Background Music
by Jess.91
Summary: Because the real problem with reality is that there's no background music. Series of song-inspired vignettes.
1. Chapter 1

_Well this is pretty self explanatory. It's not actually one of those shuffle challenges, though, because I haven't stuck to a time or word limit...I guess I just twisted it to suit my own purpose. I do plan to continue with this, though I don't know when I'll update again. I've got the next couple of chapters, but after that it might be slow. Obviously, don't own any song lyrics. I've written the name of the song, the band/singer, and the album, and included the lyrics that inspired each little peice. _

**_Background Music_**

**1. ****Great Romances of the 20th Century –** Taking Back Sunday – _Tell All Your Friends_

_But I love the way you roll_

_Excuses off the tip of your tongue_

_As I slowly fall apart (slowly, quietly, slowly) fall apart_

_It's falling apart, it's falling apart, it's falling apart._

The words didn't matter anymore. He was still talking, still trying to explain himself, still trying to convince her that this was all for her own good. And she was pretty sure he believed it all, just as she'd been pretty sure this was going to happen, sooner or later. At least he'd waited until after the funeral, Ginny thought, almost bitterly. Waited for Dumbledore to be laid to rest.

She'd waited a long, long time for Harry Potter. And, really, she'd known she wouldn't get to keep him. She'd known all along it would end like this, because she knew him. And though she'd told herself to just be greatful for the memories, for the time they'd had, she couldn't. She was prepared for it, fully, completely, prepared, and that changed nothing. It still hurt, and a tiny part of her hated him for it.

Ginny waited for him to stop with his excuses, then recited the words she'd settled on only a few days ago, during yet another sleepless night. She'd known sooner or later she'd have to face this, and would always be glad she'd been prepared. If not, she may have humiliated herself. And that would only have added to the misery of the day.

And then she walked away, determined not to let him see her falling apart. Because, though it felt like life was spiralling out of control, she was determined not to let anyone know just how much she was struggling.

_This won't mean a thing come tomorrow_

_And that's exactly how I'll make it seem_

_x_

**2. Cold As You** – Taylor Swift - _Taylor Swift_

_You put up walls and paint them all a shade of grey_

_And I stood there loving you and wished them all away_

_And you come away with a great little story_

_Of a mess of a dreamer, with the nerve to adore you_

She wouldn't cry. No way in hell was she going to cry over him. No way in hell was he going to reduce her to such a pitiful thing.

Astoria squeezed her eyes tight shut, fighting back the tears. He hadn't broken up with her. He hadn't ended their relationship. He'd simply discarded her, coldly. And she wasn't sure if that was made better or worse by the fact that he honestly believed he was protecting her by doing so. That he honestly believed that this, hurting her this way, was better for her in the long run. And that she'd seen in his eyes that he was hurting, too, that he didn't really want to lose her. Did that make it worse? Or better?

He'd built all those damn walls around himself, keeping her out no matter what she did. And then he'd walked away.

How had she never noticed he was so cold? Why had she ever believed she could get through those walls and heal his damaged soul?

Forgetting her pride, her breeding, forsaking her dignity, she sank to the floor, her back against the hard, cool wall. And she sobbed, for both of them.

_You never did give a damn thing honey_

_But I cried, cried for you_

_x_

**3. Disco** – Metro Station, _Metro Station_

_I know you're dying to get out,_

_But it's in you deep inside_

_Can you feel in it your veins,_

_The poison rushing through_

She threw herself, recklessly, into the argument, taunting Alecto Carrow mercilessly. The Death Eater got redder and redder in the face, and, watching, Neville was torn. He knew why Ginny was being so stupid, understood why she was forcing herself into danger.

Luna had been missing for a month, now, and it was driving both of them crazy. Things seemed to be getting worse, rather than better. But this, this was not the right way to deal with things. When the bell rang, Neville lept to his feet, grabbed his bag and then snatched hold of Ginny's hand, pulling her from the room before she could be hurt.

"Are you crazy?" He hissed, when they were in the safety of the crowded hallway. "Dammit Ginny, if you carry on like this, you'll get yourself killed."

"They won't spill pure blood." Ginny snapped. Her temper had been shorter and shorter lately, and he understood that she felt safer taking out her pain on him. Didn't mean he had to like it, though. "They won't kill me. And I don't care if they do!"

She stormed away from him, and he sighed. He felt like he was losing the old Ginny to this careless version, one who was in so much pain, so lost and confused and scared that her only way of dealing with things was to put herself at risk.

And he could think of no way to help her, other than be there for her.

_But can't you see that in your heart,_

_I'm still there for you_

_x_

**4. My Way Home Is Through You** – My Chemical Romance – _Famous Last Words B-side_

_Can't find my way home_

_But it's through you and I know_

_What I'd do, just to get back in her arms._

_Can't find my way home_

He threw his bag across the room. Stupid, petty, and it accomplished nothing. It didn't even make Ron feel any better. He threw himself down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling, despising himself.

He'd abandoned them. Just walked away, when they needed him. Left them because things had gotten a little too difficult. (And, as if it wasn't bad enough, it made him feel exactly like Percy.)

If he was smarter, better, he'd have figured out a way to find them already. He'd be there, apologising, pleading for forgiveness.

And Hermione would make him suffer. He smiled slightly at the thought, despite his misery. Hermione wouldn't forgive him easily. Eventually, he was pretty sure, but not easily. Why had he never realised he loved that about her? It frustrated him, of course, but still...

She mattered, so much, too much, and he was a little worried that she was coming to mean everything to him. That without her, nothing felt right.

All he wanted, right then, was to be back with them. With her.

_But it's through you and I know_

_What I'd do, just to get back in her arms._

_x_

**5. Pins and Needles – **Billy Talent – _Billy Talent II_

_Why does she mean everything to me?_

_Is it worth the pain_

_With no one to blame_

_For all of my insecurities?_

Remus stood, in the dark, looking at the house. The lights were all off, the windows dark and empty. The door would be locked, and he knew that if he took a step closer, the protection spells would send him flying backwards, and send Tonks flying out, wand in hand, ready to curse him.

He didn't, right now, think she'd hold back that curse once she realised it was him. Most likely, she'd just pick a stronger one.

He still wasn't sure what was right. She meant everything to him, meant the whole world to him, and though he'd convinced himself that she was better off without him, he didn't think he could stay away much longer. And after everything Harry had said, he wasn't sure if he should leave the baby, either.

With a slight sigh, he moved forward. As expected, he was sent flying backwards, landing heavily on his backside. And then Tonks was flying out of the house, he wand in one hand, her other hand spread over her stomach. Protecting the baby, he thought dimly. Like he should be.

"It's me. It's me, don't..."

"The last thing you said to me?" She demanded, her wand aimed at his chest, her eyes burning into his. He winced, knowing exactly why she'd picked that question to acertain his identity. And, just as intended, it caused him immense guilt.

"I said that nothing you could say or do would make me come back. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry -"

Despite himself, he felt a stirring of pride at the way she glared at him, without lowering her wand, without any flicker of emotion. He was crazy about her.

_How did I ever let you go?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews guys, really. Oh, and I forgot last time to apologise for any mistakes with the lyrics. I'm pretty sure they're acurrate, but mistakes happen. Same goes for any type-os. I try, but sometimes this stuff slips past me._

**_Background Music_**

**6. Breathe – **Taylor Swift – _Fearless_

_And we know it's never simple, never easy_

_Never a clean break, no one here to save me_

_You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand_

_And I can't breathe without you, but I have to_

She didn't bother trying to lean on Harry. Her guys – and they were hers, would always be hers, no matter what – weren't exactly great with the emotional side of things. She'd learned, over the years, to handle her own feelings, to fight back the tears whenever possible, and, if she had to be emotional, to lean on Ginny.

Now, though, there was no Ginny here, and Harry was hurting, too. She hated Ron. Sometimes. Sometimes it was easier to hate him, easier to hold onto the anger, rather than the hurt.

But she was hurting. And suffocating. She was the smart one, the one who should be able to figure all of this out. And now, she didn't feel smart, didn't feel skilled or capable. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and one of the only two people she felt able to count on right now had left. And Harry, well, it wasn't fair to lean on him, not when he was under so much pressure, most of all from himself. And, if she was brutally honest, she didn't think he'd be any good to her anyway.

Hermione closed her eyes, and forced herself to breathe, carefully, deliberately, and told herself she could do this. She had to.

_Hope you know this ain't easy,_

_Easy for me._

_x_

**7. Can't Stop, Gotta Date With Hate – **Lostprophets – _Liberation Transmission_

_A moment feels so out of place_

_As we're left standing in disgrace_

_Paint your fingernails at night_

_Style your hair in the bathroom light_

She brushed her hair slowly, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror. The sunlight filtered through the window, providing the best light in the house. She could hear the sound of the sea, faintly, and the sounds of Bill downstairs, fixing breakfast. She'd ordered him to eat, knowing he wouldn't unless she made him. Then she'd come up here to get ready. And, as she started to style her hair, she despised herself for it. As if it mattered how she looked, today. As if it mattered how her hair was styled, whether or not she was wearing make-up.

This was her brother-in-law's funeral. No one cared how she looked, not even herself. And yet, she wanted some sense of normality. Some routine, some familiarity. So she prepared herself, taking care with her appearance, and hated it. One day, one day she wouldn't feel guilty over such a normal act. But today...

Beautiful, she thought, studying herself in the mirror and hating herself for it. Just beautiful.

_Hatred never looked this good_

_Whoever thought it could?_

_x_

**8. Why** – Go: Audio – _Drive to the City B-side_

_It's been two weeks since I heard your voice_

_But it echoes in my mind_

_Your lipstick marks still on my cup_

_That you left behind_

Damn it, there were pieces of her everywhere. Draco snarled as he threw the cup across the room, and glared at the shattered pieces as they scattered on the floor. The act might have made him feel better, except he could still see, ever clearly, the mark of Astoria's lipstick. There were other little signs of her, too. Her jacket, still hung over the back of a chair. A pair of her earrings on the little table in the living room. The toothbrush that she had shyly found a place for in his bathroom.

God, he could still remember that moment, the way he'd fallen, head over heels, for that shyness. Was that what had always drawn him to her? The innocence, the shyness? There had been something, from the moment he saw her, and he still couldn't get her out of his head, two weeks after he'd let her go. For her own good, because he loved her and didn't want to hurt her. He'd hurt her anyway, he knew. By letting her go, he'd hurt her. But that was better, surely that was better, than keeping her and destroying her?

If only he could stop this craving for her, stop being desperate to get her back. Stop feeling the loss of her everywhere, every minute, stop hearing the silence.

He repaired the cup, and set it back on the counter, exactly where it had been for the last two weeks. Then he walked away, suffering.

_Nothing compares to the way I felt_

_With you there, that night_

_x_

**9. My Last Breath – **Evanescence – _Fallen_

_Closing your eyes to disappear_

_You pray your dreams will leave you here_

_But still you wake and know the truth_

_No one's there_

Her eyes flicked open, and she'd sat up and hit her wand, murmuring for light, before she was fully awake. Ginny blinked and looked around the room, confused for a moment. And then she sighed and laid back down. She'd had the dream again. The one where Fred was stood, talking to her, joking, teasing, laughing. The one where he was alive.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. It had been almost a year since his death, and she'd thought she was coping with it, handling it, almost...well, getting over it, as much as possible. And now she found herself dreaming of Fred, alive, so vividly that waking up was like another loss. She understood why. The one-year anniversary was getting closer, so her brother had been more so in her thoughts. Though the wound was raw, it was healing, and so she felt guilty for moving on. For feeling _happy_ sometimes. She supposed that, subconsciously, she was reminding herself of all she'd lost.

And, almost as bad as reliving that loss every time she woke, was the way it left her feeling after. Just as mixed-up and damaged as she had in those first few months after the war. Just as paranoid. Her gaze flickered automatically around the room, just to make sure she was safe. It worried her, angered her, that she was losing her sense of safety again, when she'd only just gotten it back after so long. And it worried her, angered her, that there was a part of her that wanted to keep dreaming those dreams, to spend time with the brother she missed so much.

She laid back down, shut out the wand-light, and stared at the ceiling, just a little afraid, for reasons she wasn't quite sure of. And then, as she slipped back into sleep, she saw Fred's face, smiling and telling her not to be afraid.

_Say goodnight_

_Don't be afraid_

_x_

**10. ****Emergency – **Paramore – _All We Know Is Falling_

_I've seen you cry_

_Way too many times_

_When you deserve to be alive_

_Alive_

She gripped his hand. She didn't know what else to do for him, what else she could do for him.

Nothing would change the facts. Nothing would bring his brother back, or erase everything they'd seen, and done. For either of them. She was trying to be selfless, to be strong and there for the people around her, but every time Hermione closed her eyes, she ended up replaying some fractured moment of the battle. Seeing a death, hearing a scream. Feeling the burn of a jinx skim by her, and feeling the horror as she sent a curse at someone and watched them fall. She'd never forget a moment of it.

Ron considered just walking away from her. He was afraid that if she kept trying to hold him up, he'd lean on her and just breakdown. But he didn't quite have the strength to release her hand; so he gave in and tightened his hold.

He wanted to tell her they'd be OK. That they'd get through this. That everything was going to be fine. But he didn't know whether or not that was true, and didn't have the energy to lie. Instead, he looked at the scar on her hand, wondering idly where it had come from.

They all had a lot of scars, now, in every sense of the word.

_These scars, they will not fade away_


	3. Chapter 3

_Again, thanks for reviews._

**_Background Music_**

**11. You're So Last Summer – **Taking Back Sunday – _Tell All Your Friends_

_I'd never lie to you_

_Unless I had to _

_I'll do what I got to_

_Unless I had to, _

_I'll do what I got to_

She looked so hurt. Lucius hated himself, in that moment, for bringing that much hurt into his wife's face. Narcissa was the only women he'd ever loved, the only women he could ever love. And she was the only one, he knew, who'd love him enough to stand by him when he didn't deserve it. He'd broken countless promises to her.

He'd promised that he'd never leave her, but had broken that by being careless and ending up in prison. He'd promised, when their son was born, that Draco would never be a Death Eater, never risk his life for the cause. He'd broken that, too cowardly to stop it. He'd promised to protect her and their child, and now he'd allowed the Dark Lord to move into their house, and feared that promise would be shattered.

He loved her, he did, but apparently he was too much of a coward to keep his promises to her. So he took her hand, wishing the hurt away, and then the fear that he also saw. He was causing her so much worry, so much pain, and he didn't have the power (or the guts) to stop it.

"I sorry. I am. I love you." He was almost desperate, because he knew she was starting to doubt him. And if she doubted him, if she stopped standing with him, he'd be nothing. He was nothing without her, that he was sure of. He was just too weak to put her before himself.

_The truth, is you could slit my throat, and with my own last gasping breath_

_I'd apologise, for bleeding on your shirt_

_x_

**12. 4am Forever – **Lostprophets – _Liberation Transmission_

_Maybe you thought that it was all pretend_

_All these words that I could never say_

_I just let them slip away_

_4am Forever_

_Why don't you hear me when I'm calling out to you?_

She'd thought she might be in love with him. It had scared Cho, and it had thrilled her, the idea of it, the feeling of it. She'd been a little too afraid to say it to him, a little too afraid to admit it. When she'd watched him go into the maze, she'd smiled, and thought that maybe, after, they could talk, and establish exactly how they felt about each other.

And now he was dead. God, God, Cedric was dead. She'd never told him how much he meant to her, and he was dead. She'd never admitted that she thought she might be in love with him, and he was dead. The whispers had reached Cho, fast, too fast, before she'd even been able to see that it was Harry Potter down there, clutching the still – too still, far, far too still – Cedric. The whispers said he was dead, and she knew, Cho knew it was true. She cried his name, once, twice – or maybe she whispered it, unable to force out the scream that was clawing at her throat. She didn't know, would never know.

But he was gone. She might've loved him, but now he was gone. He might've loved her, but he was gone. And no matter how many times she screamed his name, he'd never hear her.

He was dead, and she'd never told him all the things she'd meant to.

_Goodbye, goodbye_

_Goodbye, you never know._

_x_

**13. Dirty Little Secret – **All-American Rejects – _Move Along_

_Those thoughts I can't deny_

_These sleeping thoughts won't lie_

_And all I've tried to hide_

_It's eating me apart_

He was shaking. It was ridiculous, pathetic, that he was shaking. It wasn't as though he was scared of seeing her again, of giving back her stuff. God, God, he had to look at her, and give her back all the little reminders she'd left him. He had to say goodbye, properly. And he couldn't. He stood outside the little house she shared with her sister, and didn't feel capable. To see her, and then to walk away?

Of course he couldn't. It had been so hard to let her go. Necessary, before he destroyed her – a Malfoy, and ex-Death Eater, the kind of person he didn't want anywhere near her, the kind of person he didn't see as good enough for her – but so hard, so painful. He'd planned to hurt her, quick and deep, and then walk away, so that everything she'd felt for him would die and leave her free. And he hadn't been able to. Couldn't. He'd explained, and had made it that much harder for both of them to walk away. A selfish indulgence, but he knew he was a selfish person, had no shame in that.

She opened the door, just as he was deciding to leave. And stared at him. For a long, long moment, he only stared back, then he handed her the box. "I just wanted to...I'll go."

He started to turn, and she bit her lip. And then, telling herself to take one last chance, give him one last chance, called out, "You don't want to leave, do you?"

He turned back, looked at her. And shook his head. He couldn't lie to her, hadn't ever been able to. "I can't – I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stay away. Is that what you wanted to hear? I can't do this anymore, it's tearing me apart!"

She only smiled at him. "I meant everything I said." He told her, stepping forward. She nodded, her smile widening. God, she loved him. "But I – I promise, I'll do my best to...I can't, Astoria. I need you. I don't have any right, you deserve so much better, but I'm weak, and I'm selfish, and I need you."

"Draco, you idiot, what took you so long?"

_When we lead such fragile lives_

_It's the best way we survive_

_x_

**14. Change – **Taylor Swift – _Fearless_

_So we've been outnumbered_

_Raided and now cornered_

_It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair_

_We're getting stronger now_

"I thought it would all be easier, when it was over." Hannah sighed a little, and moved to the next table, wiping it with the cloth. Neville was stood by the bar, waiting to walk her home. She'd told him it wasn't necessary – she lived only a few minute's walk away, and had proved herself a capable witch – but he always managed to be here on the nights she was locking up. And she thought it was really sweet.

"Me too. But it's not, really, is it? I don't know how we're supposed to get back to normal."

"Me either." Hannah shrugged, pushed a chair under. "Maybe we're not supposed to go back to how we were. Maybe we make a new normal." She moved to the next table. "Normal used to be Hogwarts, lessons. But I can't go back there, so this is normal. Working here in my cousin's pub."

"You'll take it over, one day, won't you? When Tom retires." Neville thought absently that she'd be good at running the place.

"Probably. I know we're only distantly related, but I don't think there's anyone else to take over." They both lapsed into silence, and then Neville spoke, his voice hesitant.

"I...Sometimes, I just sort of feel..." Neville sighed, trailed off. "I thought I'd die in the war. And I didn't, and I feel like I should've, that all I was supposed to do was fight, and then, nothing. I shouldn't be here. I should be d -"

She turned, and her eyes were hot. "Don't you dare. Don't say it, don't even think it. Too many people died, Neville, and you _won't_ wish you were one of them. It's hard, it's hard to adjust and move past it and – and _live_ again, but we _can_, and we will. We beat the Death Eaters, we can beat this."

He nodded, and said nothing.

_You can walk away, say we don't need this_

_But something in your eyes says we can beat this_

_x_

**15. Take My Hand – **Simple Plan – _Simple Plan_

_I know that people say we're never gonna make it_

_But I know we're gonna get through this_

_(Close your eyes and please don't let me go)_

_Don't, don't, don't, don't let me go now._

She slipped her hands into his as they walked, quickly, down the corridor. She couldn't help herself, just like she couldn't help forgiving him. This was it, the big one, she could feel it. Tonight...

"Do you think this is where it ends?" Ron asked. He didn't look at her, just break stride, but his voice sounded slightly nervous. "Tonight, here?"

"I...Yes. Yes, I do." She wasn't going to ask; she'd told herself not to. And, again, couldn't help herself. "Do you think we'll...survive? The odds are against us."

"The odds have always been against us." He pointed out. They entered the bathroom together, and moved to the entrance. "You ready for this?" He asked.

She closed her eyes, and felt his hand tighten in hers. Focussing on that, she opened them, and nodded.

"We're going to get through this." He murmured. "I know it."

She meant to say something agreeable, reassuring. And instead, murmured, "Don't let me go."

She'd've been mortified, if he'd looked at her, or spoken. But, maybe because he understood that, his only sign that he'd heard her was to tighten his grip again.

_Take my hand tonight_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again for reviews. A next generation one in here, probably be more in future chapters._

**_Background Music_**

**16. Wake Me Up When September Ends – **Green Day – _American Idiot_

_Drenched in my pain again_

_Becoming who we are_

_As my memory rests_

_But never forgets what I've lost_

She shifted him, just a little awkwardly. She was so scared of hurting him. She'd held babies before, of course, countless times. But this one was hers, and that made it all the more wonderful and scary. Little James Sirius Potter, she thought, gazing down at him. Then she looked up at Harry.

"Do you ever wonder where we'd be without the war?" She asked suddenly. "If he'd never come back, if we'd never had to fight, if we'd never lost...anyone." _And Fred would've been by to look proudly down at his nephew, brought presents and jokes with the others._ She brushed that away, determined not to be sad.

"Occasionally." Harry admitted. Raising the camera, he snapped yet another picture of his son. "I guess I wonder more about if he'd never existed at all. My parents would still be alive...I'd probably never have even met the Dursley's. I guess I've been a happier kid."

"And a different person. Don't you think?" Ginny adjusted the blankets around her son. "Without the childhood you'd had, you'd be a different person. And maybe, if we hadn't had the war, if we hadn't had to fight and lose the people we lost, we'd be different people. Do you think we'd even be together?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Yes. I do. I think, no matter what, we'd've ended up together."

"What, like fate?" She kinda liked the idea of that. She figured most people just used it as an excuse, a way of explaining the things that happened. But she liked the idea of it.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "But you're right. We'd've been different." _Less scarred_, he thought. _More whole._

She only nodded, and looked back down at her son. Completely innocent. Once upon a time, she'd had that same childish innocence, and then it had died when a memory had almost drained her life. Innocence didn't last. One way or another, the world would take it away. She only hoped that for little James, it lasted longer, and was lost without fear and pain.

_Summer has come and passed_

_The innocent can never last_

_x_

**17. House of Cards – **Madina Lake – _From Them, Through Us, To You_

_I try to disconnect my heart again_

_Just so I can breathe_

_I wanna be myself again_

_But I can't cause I'm afraid_

She wouldn't break. She wouldn't. When her hands started to shake, Ginny swore, and move swiftly through the nearest door. The girls' bathroom on this floor was small, the light poor, and so it was often avoided. Or it had been. Lately, any room, no matter what its flaws, made an adequate hiding place. Or breaking place. Ginny locked herself in one of the two cubicles, and felt her breathing hitch. Too late to stop it, she thought, and closed her eyes. The tears burned her eyelids, then ran down her face. A sob escaped her, but the next one was swallowed. She wouldn't make a sound. She wouldn't be caught. No one could see, because if they saw, they'd know she wasn't coping, and if they knew she wasn't coping, they'd know she was afraid.

And somehow everything was easier if she pretended not to be afraid. If she pretended that she wasn't awake most of the night, every night, worrying, then no one would see the fear that mounted every day. If she pretended the horrific days they now lived weren't straining her, she could get through them. If she pretended that it didn't break her heart to see an innocent little first year suffering, she could focus on helping them.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, struggled to breathe properly. She'd let herself think about it. Stupid, really. She'd let herself worry about Ron, and Harry and Hermione, worry about her parents and her other brothers, worry about the fact that a group of third years were in detention later, and that there was nothing they could do to stop it. The burn on her arm didn't help, either. Her latest punishment. Stupid and reckless, Neville had told her, so angry with her that she'd been ashamed, and Ginny knew that this wasn't her. Not really. She wanted to be herself again, and couldn't. The old Ginny couldn't cope with what was happening around her; the new Ginny was finding any way of coping.

What else could she do?

_And you'll be amazed_

_At the secrets I keep_

_x_

**18. Chicago is so Two Years Ago – **Fall Out Boy – _Take This To Your Grave_

_Cause every pane of glass that your pebbles tap_

_Negates the pains I went through to avoid you_

_And every little pat on the shoulder for attention_

_Fails to mention I still hate you_

"Draco. C'mon, Draco." Goyle tried again; Draco didn't spare him a look. Instead, he closed the door in his face. It had been only a month since the war had ended, only a month since they'd both nearly died. Since Crabbe had died.

Goyle tapped on the glass of the front door, saying something Draco didn't bother to listen to. He wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with any reminder of what he'd done, who he'd been. And Goyle just wouldn't give up. When he pounded his fist against the door, Draco wrenched it open.

"Go away. Go the hell away and leave me alone. I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want anything to do with you." He snarled it, then shoved past him. He started to walk around the house, expecting Goyle to leave. Instead, when Draco dropped heavily onto a stone bench, Goyle put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm serious. _Go_." Useless, though, Draco thought. He'd lost all authority with Goyle months and months ago.

"I just want -"

"I don't care what you want." This time his voice was calm, quiet. "I don't give a damn. I hate you, Goyle. You don't seem to understand that – hell, you don't understand a lot, do you – but I hate you. I always have done. Now get away from me."

The hand on his shoulder lifted; Goyle's footsteps were audible as he walked away. And left Draco completely and totally alone.

_Loaded words and loaded friends_

_Are loaded guns to our heads_

_x_

**19. Fearless – **Taylor Swift – _Fearless_

_Well you stood there with me in the doorway_

_My hands shake _

_I'm not usually this way but,_

_You pull me in and I'm a little more brave_

She'd worried for weeks. She was, after all, Rose Weasley, and would easily admit to over-thinking everything. So, as the days had slipped by and the Christmas holidays had grown closer, she'd worried. He was a schoolboy, for God's sake, still a schoolboy, and she was three years older. And yes, she knew him, loved him, but could she be with him, and _love_ him? Maybe she'd let flattery and curiosity take her too far, and he...well, Lorcan had always had a vivid imagination, maybe he'd spun some romantic tale in his mind with her as his leading lady. A romantic tale which he'd realise was just a fantasy. She'd worried that, despite that head-spinning kiss in Hogsmeade, despite all the things she thought she felt for him, and despite the way she had all his letters neatly tucked in her jewellery box, when they finally saw each other again, face to face, there'd be nothing there.

She'd tried to work, distract herself, and ended up giving it up after only a few minutes. Instead, she paced her little flat, sitting on the sofa for a few minutes, then moving to the kitchen, then the bedroom, unable to settle. She called herself a coward for refusing to meet him at the station like he'd asked. She called herself a fool for getting herself in this situation in the first place. And then there was a knock on the door that had her jumping violently. And she knew it was him, had rushed to the door and pulled it open before she could stop herself. He was stood in her doorway, grinning at her. And it was the nerves, that showed in his eyes, in his body language, that had her smiling back, filling with affection for him. "Hi, you." She murmured. Her hands shook, just a little, as he stepped forward. There was the briefest hesitation, uncertainty – because in reality, no one could be as secure and smooth and easy as the fantasy suggested – and then he pulled her gently towards him, and kissed her.

She couldn't quite steady herself, her hands coming up to his shoulders and slipping off, unable to grip his jacket. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn't scared anymore. Couldn't be. It was a moment she never could have predicted, and one she'd never forget, or regret, no matter how this played out. They finally broke apart, and just looked at each other. Too intense, Rose thought, and that fear skittered back around the edges of her mind. And then he smiled a little, again. "You going to ask me in?" He asked finally.

"Oh. Right. Sure. Come in, Lorcan." She moved back to let him through the door, and her closed it behind him. Then simply took a hold of her hand. The fear vanished again. It felt far too right for fear.

_And I don't know how it gets better than this_

_You take my hand and drag me head first, fearless_

_x_

**20. The Ghost of You – **My Chemical Romance – _Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge_

_You are never coming home_

_Never coming home_

_Could I? Should I?_

_And all the things that you never ever told me_

Dennis was shaking. Just a little, just a little because he knew. He felt it. Methodically, he forced the breath into his lungs, then out, then in, then out. It had been too long. Colin had promised that he'd contact him as soon as it was over. And it had been hours, and nothing, nothing but the occasional loud, terrifying noise from the caslte. So he knew. Maybe he felt it, maybe he sensed it, or maybe it was just the fear, the raw, heart-pounding fear that made him believe his brother was dead.

He put his head in his hands at that point, desperatly trying to convince himself that it was just fear, not some kind of instinct. That Colin was OK, that he would walk through the door at any second, full of excitement because they'd won. Maybe, maybe he'd gone home. Had they agreed to meet in the Hog's Head? Dennis didn't think so; hadn't he only decided to stay, wait for news, when he'd seen other people settle here to wait? So maybe Colin had just gone home, and that was why he wasn't here.

Maybe it wasn't even over. Maybe it was still going on, maybe he was just underestimating the time needed. Actually, wouldn't someone have come down to the pub and told them all if it was over? Wouldn't they? Maybe it was still happening, Colin was still fighting, and that was why he wasn't here. That's what it was, of course that's what it was.

Dennis stood, full of hope and certainty that didn't quite cover the fear. He'd go to the castle, that's what he'd do. He'd go to the castle and help, which is exactly what he should've been doing in the first place. Colin would be annoyed with him, but it didn't matter, because he'd help, and they'd win.

Because it didn't matter what he felt, what he'd thought he knew. Colin couldn't be - Dennis silenced the thought, started towards the door. And then the door opened, and McGonagall and Flitwick were stood in the doorway. Their faces were dirty, and McGonagall's had a gash running down one side. Their robes were torn; Flitwick's looked burnt at the sleeves. They were both a mess.

"It's over." Dennis said. The room had fallen silent when the door had opened, and his words, though not spoken loudly, seemed to echo in the silence.

"Yes." McGonagall said, and her voice trembled, just a little. She looked around the room. "It's over. You-Know-Who is dead." Then she looked back at Dennis. There were others, others who needed to know that their loved ones were dead. But it was Dennis she focussed on, little Dennis who she'd always found rather sweet and amusing. Little Dennis who's brother, another boy she'd liked, was dead. "Dennis..." She took a step towards him. "Colin, he..."

And he knew. He couldn't deny it anymore - he knew. It was all over her face. "He didn't make it." He said dully, and she shook her head, said she was sorry. But he hardly heard her, hardly saw her. Colin had smiled at him. Right before he left, Colin had smiled at him, a forced smile designed to reassure. It hadn't worked, and Colin would never smile at him again.

"You'll take me to him?" He could finally focus on her face, finally see it, and the grief in her eyes. "You'll take me to Colin?"

"Yes." She murmured. One look at Flitwick assured her that he'd tell the others waiting what they needed to know. And she'd concetrate on Dennis, because he needed her the most. "I'll take you to Colin."

He'd known, Dennis thought dully as they started back up to the castle. He'd known, he'd felt it. Maybe a part of him had known, when Colin had sent him that last smile, that he'd never see him alive again.

_And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me_


	5. Chapter 5

**_Background Music_**

**21. You Belong With Me** – Taylor Swift – _Fearless_

_I'm the one who makes you laugh_

_When you know you're about to cry_

_And I know your favourite songs_

_And you tell me about your dreams_

"You don't care about flowers." Hermione repeated his words, her voice so cold, so icy, that Ron took a step back. A small one, but a step all the same. Not that he was afraid of her, exactly. But he was definitely aware that he'd said something very wrong. "You don't _care_ about the _flowers_?"

"No, I just, I mean, whatever you pick is fine. You know. It doesn't make much difference to me."

"That's what you say about _everything_, Ron. This is _your_ wedding too, and you need to make some decisions, or have some input of some kind. It's not just the flowers, is it? You don't care about the wedding, do you?"

"Of course I -"

"Damn it Ron, why are we doing this? Why are we getting married?"

"Because we want to." He replied. He sort of wanted to just give in and apologise and avoid the argument. But he kept his voice firm and his expression calm.

"Because we want to? _Wanting_ doesn't make a marriage, Ron. How are we supposed to make a marriage work?" She sat back down, suddenly, and lowered her head, her voice. "We fight all the time, and we hardly ever agree on anything, we don't have anything in common, really. Half the time we don't understand each other at all, and you drive me crazy. I drive you crazy, too, I know it. Why are we getting married?" Her voice was quiet, dejected. He knelt on the floor in front of her.

"Because we love each other." He replied simply.

She raised her head slowly, nodded, managed a slight smile. "Yeah. We do." She slipped her arm around his neck, pulled him into a hug. "I just wonder if that's enough sometimes."

"Hermione..." He sighed a little. "OK, maybe we fight all the time, but we make up, don't we? And, we, we do agree on some things. And we've known each other since we were kids, Hermione, we have a whole history in common. Think about everything we've been through."

"I guess. Yeah, that's true."

"We understand each other most of the time. And, yeah, we drive each other crazy, but it keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" He tried a grin, and she smiled back at him. "We're good together, and we – we make each other laugh, we know everything about each other – we belong together, Hermione."

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, we do."

"I do care about the wedding." He murmured. "It's just not so important to me what flowers we have. As long as, you know, we're married by the end of it. That's all I really care about."

Sometimes, she thought, talking to him was like talking to a wall. And, sometimes, he managed to say the perfect thing.

_Think I know where you belong_

_Think I know it's with me_

_x_

**22. Little Devotional – **Taking Back Sunday – _Where You Want To Be_

_Well I'm blowing smoke out of your window_

_And you're slipping back into your dress_

_You know you were always such a lady_

_I've always been impressed_

He sat on her window sill, twirled his wand so that it sent a stream of golden smoke out into the world. He heard her muttered complaint and grinned a little as he drew a circle with his wand, sending a blue smoke ring out after the golden stream.

"I don't see why I have to go." Lily told him.

Without turning back to look at her, Scorpius drew an orange smoke triangle, and replied, "Because you love me. Just a couple of hours, OK? I don't like these things anymore than you do, but I promised my grandmother I'd show up."

"So I have to suffer too?"

"Damn right." Green smoke, this time, a swirl of it. "It won't be too bad. You even said, last time, you almost had fun."

"Almost being the key word." He heard the sounds of her getting changed. Didn't turn, because she didn't like him to watch her dress. Instead, he sent out a silver "S" of smoke. It twisted, dissolved. "I just, you know, I don't fit in with them. All those stuck-up, rich -"

"You're not exactly poor yourself, babe."

"I'm not stuck up though." She replied. He drew an "L" this time, in scarlet. "And they all _look_ at me, 'cause I'm not this – this perfect lady who talks and walks and stands exactly perfect. As far as they're concerned, I'm not...impressive enough for you."

"I've always been impressed." He told her, and turned. She was wearing scarlet dress robes, new ones he was sure. And looked...

"Look okay?" She asked him. "I was gonna wear the blue ones, but, ah, I wore them last time and I wasn't sure if it was..." She flushed, just a little, and he realised, maybe for the first time, that she wasn't just complaining because she didn't enjoy the parties he sometimes took her to, and wasn't just amused by the looks and comments she sometimes received. She was insecure, there, when she was being looked down on, when she was made to feel inadequate. It wasn't boredom, it was misery.

"You look amazing." He told her softly. "We don't have to stay too long. And, I promise, we'll ignore the next few invites we get."

"I'll hold you to that. C'mon, then, let's get this over with."

_Well I pictured you in blue_

_But I have to say I'm more partial to the red_

_x_

**23. After the Fall – **Metro Station – _Metro Station_

_I miss you_

_Is it still OK to say it?_

_I miss you_

_I know that it's too late but..._

He watched her. He couldn't quite make out her voice, not from here, but when she laughed, he swore he could hear the sound in his head. He'd lost her. Michael could admit, now, that he'd all but pushed her away in his attempts to keep her close. Not that Ginny was completely blameless, of course. He was pretty sure she'd agree with that.

He stood when she broke away from her friends, started to walk towards him. And saw, in her eyes, on her face, the exact moment she saw him. Anger, sorrow, and more passed over her face, but she kept walking.

"Hi." He said, before she could walk past him. She hesitated, just a little, before returning the greeting. "Are you, ah, how've you been?"

"Fine, yeah, OK. You?" She tucked her thumbs in her pockets, looked at him awkwardly. He only nodded. He missed her. God, he missed her, and he knew that it was too late, now. A whole summer had passed, and she had another boyfriend. And though he'd been mad at her for that, for moving on so quickly, he could hardly judge, could he? He was with Cho.

Which made him feel like slime. He was with Cho, enjoyed being with Cho, cared about her. And still, on odd moments like this when he'd seen Ginny without expecting to, he couldn't help but miss her. Maybe he wouldn't if they'd ended things better. But the argument that had ended them had destroyed their friendship, too. So he'd gone from spending loads of time with her to not speaking to her, and surely it was normal to miss her? Still, he felt disloyal.

"It's, um, good to see you." He muttered.

"You too." He'd been her best friend, Ginny thought, and she missed him. So much that she wanted to forget all the bad things that had happened, and reach out to him. Have him as her best friend again. And she couldn't quite manage it. He'd hurt her. And she'd hurt him. How did they come back from that?

They couldn't. It was too late, both of them were certain of it.

"I, ah, have to..." Ginny muttered, and when he nodded she moved past him and walked away. Maybe, he thought, maybe one day they could be friends again. So maybe, just maybe it was better that they'd broken up when they did, before they'd hurt each other more. Maybe.

_Feel the same for different reasons_

_We lost the road but I prefer it_

_x_

**24. Ignorance – **Paramore – _Brand New Eyes_

_The same tricks that, that once fooled me_

_They won't get you anywhere_

_I'm not the same kid from you memory_

_Well now I can fend for myself_

She forced herself to breathe, in, out, in, out, and made herself nod as Charlie asked, yet again, if she was OK.

"You can tell me, Ginny. You can tell me." He told her softly. Once, those words, that tone, would have had her telling him everything that was bothering her. But not now. She wasn't that kid anymore. And he already knew everything that was bothering her; there was nothing he could do to help her. Their brother was dead, after all, and nothing could change that.

"I'm _fine_." She snapped, and jumped to her feet, striding through the kitchen and out the back door before he could blink. She hated it, the way everyone was _watching_ each other, waiting for one of them to break down. Hated that her home, her childhood home, the house she'd always loved, in her way, had become too small, to crowded, too suffocating.

And she hated that Charlie had followed her outside. He was trying to help, she knew. He was concerned about her, and guilty, too. He'd missed most of that final battle, and she knew that caused him immense guilt. He hadn't even been in the country when Fred had been killed.

And, she knew, he felt guilty about her. She'd caught him looking at her bruises, knew that Bill had told him all about what a mess she'd been towards the end of the night. The injuries, the exhaustion, the horror and terror.

But, God, she couldn't take anymore of his concern, any more of his guilt.

"Ginny -"

"Leave me alone." She snapped it out before she could stop herself. "Go away, Charlie, for God's sake go away. You're suffocating me! I don't care how guilty you are, how worried you are, I don't need you hovering over me every waking minute."

"I..." He looked uncomfortable, and a little hurt. "You're my little sister, Ginny. And you've been through so much..."

She understood, and still, couldn't stop the words spilling out of her, filled with venom that wasn't, really, caused by him, and fuelled by grief and horror. "Exactly. All I've seen, all I've done – stop seeing me as a little kid, Charlie. When you left us, when you ran off to play with your damn dragons, I was that kid. I'm not anymore; I'm not the same kid from your memories. I don't need you."

"I..." He trailed off, nodded. "Fine." And turned away from her, stalked back into the house. She felt the first prickle of guilt, and understood that he was in pain, and that she'd only hurt him.

She should go to him, appologise, comfort, and grieve with him. But, God, she couldn't face it. She didn't want to feel his pain. So she sank, slowly, to the floor, and sat on the grass in silence.

_Don't wanna hear your sad songs_

_I don't wanna feel your pain_

_x_

**25. Always, All Ways (Apologies, Glances And Messed Up Chances) **– Lostprophets – _Liberation Transmission_

_I guess I'm trying to say I'm sorry_

_But it always comes out wrong,_

_I think a part of you still loves me,_

_Even though we're moving on_

He'd made his mistakes. Gellert Grindelwald could admit that now. It had taken him a while, a while to overcome his own ego and admit that he'd made his mistakes. Somehow, he'd lost sight of the goal, of the plans. Little mistakes had led to bigger ones, and everything had spiralled out of control.

They called him evil. He hadn't started that way, hadn't set out to do the things he'd done. But by the end, yes, he was evil. He'd killed and caused deaths. Sacrifices, he'd thought of them then.

But they were murders. All for a stupid boy's dream. And what had that stupid boy done? When he should have let go of that dream? He'd grown into a man who'd gone down a dark path.

Yes, Gellert decided. They were right, when they called him evil. And they were right when they said Albus should have killed him.

Albus, Gellert thought with a sigh. Therein lay his biggest regret. Would things have been different, he wondered, if Albus' poor little sister had never died? If he'd stayed, rather than running in shame and horror? Maybe. Maybe Albus would've stopped him from going down that path.

He'd loved him. That in itself had pushed him down that path. He'd loved Albus, and though he'd denied it, as a boy, the man couldn't lie to himself. That love had survived, during the separation, even during the times Gellert didn't think of it, of Albus. The boy had been scared of those complex and unprecedented feelings. The man had been ashamed of them.

And he'd seen, when they'd led him away, wandless, he'd seen Albus' eyes, seen the sorrow, the regret, and the love. Albus had loved him. As a boy, he'd known. In some part of himself, and Gellert could only admit that now. The boy had known, and had been almost as afraid of Albus' feelings as his own. The man had denied it all. Until he'd met those eyes, and seen all his own feelings staring back at him.

And it was only now that Gellert could admit that in some part of himself, during his crusade, he'd thought that one day, when he'd achieved all he hoped to achieve, he and Albus could find a way to be together.

That, he supposed, was the part of him that was still that young boy. The idealistic boy who'd fallen in love.

It wasn't supposed to be this way, Gellert thought. It wasn't supposed to end like that. He wasn't supposed to be alone.

It should've been the two of them, always.

_Always, all ways, you and me_


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks again for reviews._

**_Background Music_**

**26. My Heart – **Paramore – _All We Know Is Falling_

_I am finding out_

_That maybe I was wrong_

_That I've fallen down,_

_And I can't do this alone_

It broke her heart to see it. It was odd that he looked so much younger, now, so much...smaller, somehow. Curled up on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly into the fireplace. He never sat curled up. He was a sprawler. More times than she could count she'd been forced to sit on the edge of a sofa because he was taking up so much room. Mostly, she'd hit him until she shifted up for her. Now, he was curled, looking so small, so young, so defenceless.

"Ron?" She hovered in the doorway, because maybe he wanted to be alone. Maybe that was why he was sat here in the living room all by himself. But when he looked up, he met her gaze and his eyes filled with relief.

"Hey. Come sit down?" He needed her near him, needed her to take his mind off of his thoughts. He was starting to think he couldn't get through this alone. "How're your parents?"

"Settled. A little shaken." She sat beside him, and wondered if she should take his hand, or cuddle up to him. Or would that just make him uncomfortable? And if she was so smart, so good at figuring people out, why didn't she know what he needed? "I played things down as much as I could, but...well." Tired, she rubbed her eyes. "I can't lie to them, and it's hard to make things sound better than they were."

"Are you still staying here tonight?" He asked, and she heard the hope in his voice. He must've heard it, too, because he flushed a little. "Ah, I figured Ginny sleeps easier when you're in her room."

She didn't bother telling him that neither she or Ginny were sleeping well anyway, or that they'd been taking it in turns to wake each other from nightmares. Nor did she admit that she wanted to be _home_, wanted to be in her old room, her old bed, with her parents close by. She hadn't been there, seen them, in a year, after all, the longest year she'd ever experienced. Instead, she nodded. "I'll stay. Where is everyone?"

"Um, Ginny and George are upstairs. Charlie's at Bill and Fleur's place. Harry went out. Um, to see Neville, I think. And, ah, the rest went to...they went to the grave." He paused for a long moment, and when she said nothing – could think of nothing to say – he continued, "I didn't want to. I just couldn't."

"That's OK." She murmured. "That's OK, I promise."

"I...I keep thinking it would be better if it was me. If I was...instead of Fred. I was right there, with him, and if I'd've been stood where he was...George wouldn't be this broken, and Ginny would handle it better, and so would the others. My parents...I wouldn't have hurt them this much if it was me."

"Don't." Her voice was sharp, and he realised – to his bemusement – that he'd missed that sharp tone. She'd been so gently with him, careful. He sort of perfered the sharpness, the familiarity of it. "Don't you dare. Everyone would be just as hurt, Ron, just as upset. Saying otherwise isn't fair to yourself, or to your family. Or to me and Harry. How do you think we'd feel if you were...If it had been you?"

"I..."

"I won't sit here while you beat yourself up for being alive. I won't listen to you say everyone would be happier. No one would be happy." Her voice harsh, she jumped to her feet. "I don't know what I'd've done if you'd've – if you hadn't've made it. I don't know how I've got through it. So think about that before you start wishing it was you." She stormed towards the door.

"I'm sorry." He said, and she stopped. Rubbed a hand over her face.

"It's OK. I'm sorry I flew at you like that. I guess we're all a little emotional." She turned back to him, sighed a little. "I don't know how to help you. I don't know what you need."

He hesitated, then spoke without meeting her eyes. "Could you...could you come sit back down? Just stay with me a little while. That's...that's all I need."

"Of course." She murmured, and moved back, sat beside him. He took hold of her hand, looking a little awkward. And that, she thought, was Ron. Bit by bit, he was coming back.

_Stay with me_

_This is what I need, please._

_x_

**25. It's My Life – **Bon Jovi – _One Wild Night Live 1985-2001_

_It's my life_

_It's now or never_

_I ain't gonna live forever_

_I just wanna live while I'm alive_

"Potter, for God's sake, quieten down!" Lily Evans all but screamed it, which was, she supposed, sort of ironic. The scattering of people in the common room silenced, and turned to look at her. Willing herself not to blush, she glared until they turned away, then looked back at James Potter. "I'd appreciate it," she said through gritted teeth, "if you could keep the noise down. I'm trying to study."

"Why?" Lily noticed Lupin shake his head, saw Pettigrew roll his eyes, saw Black duck his head to hide the grin. But focused on Potter, who was doing his best to look innocent.

"_Why_? It's our seventh year, Potter. We've got some big exams at the end of it, if you hadn't heard."

"It's October, Evans. You don't have to worry about it yet."

"Maybe _you_ don't. But some of us need to work to get good grades." And it still, _still_ irritated her that he seemed to get top marks effortlessly. That was just unfair.

"C'mon, Evans, you can't just spend all your time for the next, what, seven months, sitting there studying. You've got to _live_."

"Why?" She demanded.

"Because...well, you've got to live while you can. While you're alive. You're not going to live forever, Evans, so you might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

Because there was some logic in there, she was annoyed. And so she slammed her book shut, thanked him sarcastically for the advice, and escaped to her dorm.

The next morning, he dropped down beside her while she was eating her breakfast. Because she wanted to childishly turn her back on him, she muttered a greeting.

"Guess I should say sorry about last night." He said with a shrug.

"No." She said, toying with her food. "You were just having fun with your friends. I shouldn't have shouted at you." She attempted a smile. "I've heard I'm too argumentative."

"Yeah," he replied, quick as a flash. "But I like that about you."

"Uh-huh."

"No, really. You gotta stand up for what you believe in, stick to your opinions. Don't bend or break for anyone."

She stared at him. "Most people find it annoying."

"I'm not most people." He said, and grinned. "Remember, baby, never back down." With that, he jumped up. "See you later, Evans. You'll be at the Quidditch match, right?"

"Yeah. Sure." She muttered the words automatically, and watched him go. He'd called her baby. She hated guys who did that.

So why, then, had the words, the endearment, the grin, caused that odd tugging in her stomach?

_Better stand tall when they're calling you out_

_Don't bend, don't break, baby don't back down_

_x_

**27. Skylines and Turnstiles – **My Chemical Romance – _I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love_

_You're not in this alone_

_Let me break this awkward silence_

_Let me go, go on record_

_Be the first to say I'm sorry_

"It's hard to lose someone." Luna said quietly. Ginny said nothing. She'd wanted to be alone, and had assumed she would be, sat out here on the grass. It was cold, drizzling, and she'd expected no one to come outside. Luna had, and then sat beside her. She wanted to be alone, but Ginny still didn't have the heart to be cruel to Luna. "It's gets a little better. After a while, it hurts less."

Still, Ginny didn't speak, because she couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm sorry you lost your brother, Ginny." It wasn't pity in Luna's voice. Sympathy, yes, and sincerity. She was, genuinely, sorry.

And hearing it, Ginny broke. The tears that she'd been holding back rolled freely down her face, as her body started to sake. Luna slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm handling it badly." Ginny said finally. "I hurt Charlie a little while ago. And I'm hurting Percy, too, because I can't forgive him. And Harry, I can barely talk to him, and I think he thinks I blame him. I don't, but I can't talk to him. It's better, I'm better. I'm getting, getting used to the idea. But I still, I can't...I should be able to handle it. I handled it when Dumbledore died, and I was so scared then. And I handled it when Sirius died, and he, he was great, he was a _friend. _He treated us like equals, you know, not like stupid kids. I handled it, I handled _their_ deaths."

"They weren't Fred." Luna said simply. "They weren't your brother."

"No. I know. God." She cried it out, and Luna let her. And then, long after the tears dried, they sat outside, getting steadily soaked by the drizzle. "Have you, um, did you talk to your dad, yet?"

"Yes. I understand why he did it. Calling the ministry, the Death Eaters, on Harry and Ron and Hermione." Luna murmured. "I'm all he has, you see. But I'm still angry about it."

"He's your dad. You'll forgive him."

"Do you want me to leave? Your parents are being very nice about it, but there's a lot of people staying here. I can go home."

"God, no. You can stay here as long as you need. I told you, my parents don't mind. And I...Um, I like having you around. You're a good friend, Luna."

"You were my first ever friend." Luna said quietly.

"I...Ah. Hermione was my first close friend. I had friends, but she was the first one I got close to. And she was always still Ron's friend, you know? She was Ron's, more than mine. And then...Michael was my first best friend. The first one I made myself, the first one who was _mine._ We lost that, when we broke up. And you...You were the first one who was my friend, just my friend, for me. Not because of my brother, or not like how Michael was. So, ah, thanks. For everything, Luna."

Luna smiled, and said nothing, because nothing needed to be said. Ginny didn't speak either, but thought about how innocent Luna had always seemed, and how protective she'd always felt towards her. That had been, maybe, what had drawn her towards her in the first place. That had been what had made them friends.

She wasn't so innocent right now. She seemed older, and Ginny knew she probably seemed the same way. They'd seen too much, done too much, after all, to be the same innocent kids they had been.

Thankfully, Luna hadn't lost too much. She was still almost the same as she'd been. And Ginny hoped that, in time, Luna could get back completely to who she'd been, how she'd been.

_And after seeing what we saw_

_Can we still reclaim our innocence?_

_x_

**28. Sympathy - **Billy Talent – _Billy Talent II_

_A slap in the face_

_That I can't erase_

_These things that you say_

_Don't make it all OK, it's not OK_

Dennis felt sick. Not exactly as though he was going to throw up or anything, but definitely sick. Still, that was the least of his worries. In truth, the nausea was sort of a welcome distraction. He could think about that, and not about his dead brother. Or he could look at the faces of the other mourners and count how many he recognised, how many he didn't, rather than wondering whether or not Colin's dead body actually looked like him, or if death had changed him. And he could get mad, too, at the people around him, offering their sympathy as though that would make everything OK, rather than being mad at Colin for never coming home.

"Dennis." Harry murmured his name, looking uncomfortable and sad and sympathetic all at once. "I, I'm so sorry."

Dennis managed a nod, and that was all. He couldn't speak, couldn't open his mouth, because if he did all his pent up venom would burst out. Instead, he only looked at Harry, said nothing, and hated him.

He'd barely known Colin. He hadn't liked him. Colin had spent years trying to talk to Harry, to be friends with him. And Harry Potter, the great Harry Potter, had never had the time for him.

Colin had never seen it, but Dennis had. Harry had been irritated by him. Annoyed. Harry had looked down on them both.

So Dennis turned away, because no amount of sympathy would make up for that, and no amount of it would make anything OK. Nothing was.

He caught sight of Professor McGonagall talking to his mother. He'd never had a favourite teacher before, but she'd become it, the day the war ended. When she'd come down to the pub where he and some other students were waiting. When he'd told him his brother was dead, and taken him back to the castle, stood with him with grief on her face and tears in her eyes while he'd looked at his brother, said his goodbyes. When she'd travelled home with him, helped him tell his parents that their eldest son was dead, and held his mother's hand as she'd told them that Colin had been brave, that Colin had made a difference. And she'd cried. So she was Dennis' favourite teacher, forever.

But he couldn't talk to her now. Couldn't see the sympathy. Too much of it, sympathy and pity all around him. And some...Some showed relief, too. Dennis understood that, the relief. It was very human, after all, to look at death and be thankful it wasn't them. _You're dead and I'm not._

But he couldn't look at it. Not when his brother was the dead one.

"Dennis." Another voice said, and again, it was full of sympathy, that stung like a slap. They didn't understand, they couldn't know, they couldn't help. None of their words would fix anything.

So he walked, ignoring them, ignoring his mother's sobs – later, he'd feel guilty for that, but now he felt justified in being selfish – ignoring everything. Because all the sympathy, the sorrow, the sobs, the words, wouldn't help.

He felt sick. Dennis focussed on that, because otherwise he might just curl up on the grass and break.

_Sympathy, won't get the best of me_

_Misery, is what you're giving me._

_x_

**29. Time To Dance – **Panic At The Disco – _A Fever You Can't Sweat Out_

_She didn't choose this role_

_But she'll play it and make it sincere_

_So you cry, you cry_

_(Give me a break)_

She walked – glided – down the stairs, into the foyer, and opened the door. "You will not," she said, her voice icy cold and calm, "beat on the door like animals."

The two Death Eaters managed to look slightly apologetic. "Is Lucius here?" One asked. Narcissa swallowed the sigh that wanted to escape, and inclined her head.

"Yes. I don't believe he was expecting you."

"Ah...it's important. If we could talk to him...?" Pinned by her cold stare, the man – considerably larger than she was, shifted uncomfortably and looked nervous.

"Of course."

She let them in, led them to Lucius' private study, then slipped out. And locked herself in one of the bathrooms, stared at herself in the cold surface of the mirror. She barely recognised herself. She looked the same. Mostly. She'd lost a little weight in the last year, but that didn't change her appearance by much. A little harder, she decided. Her face looked a little harder than it had. Her body a little thinner. Which was odd, really; most people weighed extra after having a child. But Draco was only a few months old, and she was thinner. She didn't exactly like it. Maybe she would when she got used to it.

But that wasn't really what made her so different. She'd never acted quite like this before. She'd heard, only a week ago, one of Lucius' associates describe her as "a cold bitch". She'd never been cold before. But that seemed to be the role she was playing. And why was she playing roles at all? No one had told her that when she'd married she'd have to change herself, give up parts of herself. They'd never told her she'd have to act the way Lucius wanted her to, have to put up with Death Eaters calling into her home – _her home­ – _at all hours.

Worse, though, she was losing herself. In her attempts to meet the needs of Lucius, and now her son, she was losing herself.

She'd always played roles, though. Narcissa ran the water, cold, and splashed it over her face. The perfect daughter, sister, student. For some reason, she'd hoped that marriage would bring freedom from that. Instead, it was suffocating her. As was the envy, the malice, she was subjected to.

Expected. Her mother had told her to expect those things. A women married into a wealthy, influential family was bound to get such things. And she could cope with them well enough. But God, she needed a break.

She heard the voices, the Death Eaters leaving Lucius study. Drying her face quickly, she composed herself and left the room to show them out. She hadn't chosen this role, but she'd play it, and she'd play it well.

And take any break from it she could.

_Give me envy, give me malice_

_Baby, give me a break._

_x_

**30. Welcome To My Life – **Simple Plan – _Still Not Getting Any..._

_Are you desperate to find something more,_

_Before your life is over?_

_Are you stuck inside a world you hate?_

_Are you sick of everyone around?_

She was almost twelve, a little short with it, and on the skinny side. Her hair was long, and a dirty blonde. She'd had it cut short when she was nine, and decided that she disliked it. Now it was long again, she felt better about it.

But, right at this moment she wanted to be anyone else. Luna sat in the common room alone, watching everyone else. They all had friends. She'd thought there would be someone, anyone, who didn't. And had sort of thought maybe she could talk to them, and be _their_ friend. But everyone was paired up, or in groups, and she was alone.

She hadn't expected this. Hadn't even considered it. Her mother had told her all sorts of stories about Hogwarts, and Luna had looked forward to it, certain that she'd love it.

Instead, she hated it. She had no friends. And everyone _looked_ at her, or they avoided her, or they laughed. That was worse. When they laughed, or made comments, or made fun of her.

"Hey, hey, Looney." One of the boys in her year ran forward, smirking at her cruelly. "I just saw a nargle." He dissolved into fits of giggles. This was, already, an old joke, and one that Luna understood. At first, when people had made such comments, told such lies, she'd believed and gotten excited. Now, she felt a fresh wound open in her heart, and turned away. Tears threatened, but she wouldn't let them form. She wouldn't.

Still snorting with laughter, the boy wondered back to his friends. Friends, Luna thought, and an older, deeper wound throbbed. Even he had friends, this awful boy who took such delight in other's misery. He had friends, a group of them. And she didn't.

She pulled her knees up, not caring who noticed, who cared, and wrapping her arms around them. The position was defensive, and still did nothing to protect her. She hated this, hated them, and was stuck here, like this. She didn't know how to be any different, and wasn't sure she would be if she could. Shouldn't she be accepted for who she was? Shouldn't she be able to be herself without everyone _hurting_ her for it? Teasing her, lying to her, laughing at her, and calling her Looney. She'd been a little pleased at first, when they'd started calling her that. A nickname, she'd thought, she had a nickname.

And then she'd understood.

One day, Luna decided fiercely, she'd be more than these, better. She'd do something important, make some kind of difference, and, hell, she'd make friends, too. (She never imagined, of course, that all of those things would occur within a war.)

She tuned them out, all of them, the ones looking at her in amusement, the ones looking at her warily, the ones looking at her with sympathy. She tuned them all out, and wished for the day when things would be better.

_While deep inside you're bleeding._


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks again for reviews. Just so you know, I think this is going to end at chapter ten. That gets 50 little stories, which seems like a good number._

**_Background Music_**

**31. Looking Up – **Paramore – _Brand New Eyes_

_Things are looking up_

_Oh, finally_

_I thought I'd never see the day_

_When you'd smile at me_

Her hands were shaking. How ridiculous, Ginny thought, looking down at them. It was only Harry. It was nothing. A little thing, just a little thing. Almost a formality. Except a lot more informal than that.

Ginny cut her thoughts off at that point, a little annoyed with herself. But she couldn't stop her hands from shaking as she climbed to the top floor. He was, as she'd expected, in Ron's room. With Ron, and Hermione. They were sat on the floor, talking, laughing a little.

It was good to see it, to hear it. They were all still a little strained, a little more serious than they had been. But the normalcy of the three of them sitting around, talking and laughing, was reassuring. "Hi." She said, when none of them noticed her in the doorway. "Ah, Harry, can I talk to you a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." He jumped quickly to his feet, moved towards her. Ron looked at her, a long searching look, and she realised he was trying to figure out if she was OK. She sent him a smile, and hoped that, soon, a smile wouldn't feel so out of place on her face. And she didn't miss the look that passed between the three of them.

She hadn't smiled like that, properly, impulsively, in a long while. Since that last battle, in fact.

She led Harry to her room, and sat on her bed, leaning back against the headboard. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, and waited.

"Ah, remember, a couple of weeks ago, you said you wanted us to, to get back together. Um..." She waited for him to nod. "Did you mean it? And, ah, do you still...?"

"Yeah. I meant it. I still do." He replied, only a little awkwardly. And was rewarded with another smile. He'd been starting to worry he'd never see that smile again, starting to worry she'd never smile at him again. Oddly, the fact that she had lightened his heart a little. Things were looking up.

"You said, when I was ready. And I, I wanted some time." She twisted her hands together. "I was just starting to accept it all then, I guess. What happened, and Fred...Well. I was just starting to accept that I should move on and _live_, you know? It was just about surviving, for a long while." She knew she didn't exactly need to explain, but wanted to. "But I wasn't ready then. Not for _us. _It didn't feel right. It wasn't about you, or what I felt – feel – for you. It was just..."

"I get it."

"The thing is, Harry, we were younger, before. When we were together. Not loads younger, I know, but we were a hell of a lot more innocent. We're different now, aren't we?"

He felt his heart sink, and only nodded, sure she was going to reject him.

"And we've both got...issues, I guess they'd be called. And I don't know that we can handle each other's issues, or handle each other now. That last year, at, at Hogwarts, I barely recognised myself. I did what I had to, to cope, but I was so different. I still am different. I just want to make that clear, to warn you that it's not going to be easy. _I'm_ not going to be easy. Fair warning." She said, and when he looked at her, he saw more of the old Ginny, in the determination and challenge on her face. His heart lifted.

"If you're still willing to try," she said carefully, "I am." It sounded almost like she was daring him to refuse, but that wasn't an option for him. Instead, he grinned.

"We'll try, Ginny, and we'll succeed, too."

The kiss was careful, testing, and somehow familiar.

And she knew she'd made the right choice. This was, after all, something she'd always wanted.

_I'd never trade it in_

_Cause I've always wanted this_

_x_

**32. I'm Only Me When I'm With You – **Taylor Swift - _Taylor Swift (Deluxe Edition)_

_Everything I need is right here by my side_

_And I know everything about you_

_I don't wanna live without you_

It was a little colder than they'd hoped it would be, but it wasn't raining, at least. And everyone they'd wanted there was sat, watching, as they said their vows.

Lily Luna Potter didn't think she'd ever felt this way, ever felt this kind of happiness. Maybe she'd been this happy before. But this exact kind? No. "Scorpius," she said, quietly, clearly. Maybe she should have spoken louder, but the words weren't for the watching crowd. They were for him. "Some people thought, maybe they still think, that we made the wrong choice. That we should never be together. They're wrong. They said you weren't right for me, that I didn't know who you really are. But they're wrong. I know everything about you, and I know you're everything I need. So I'll promise you my love, my loyalty, my life. I could live without you, Scorpius, but I don't want to, not for a single minute. You, us, this, is the best choice I've ever made." Her eyes shone with tears she had no intention of shedding.

So did his. When he'd proposed, she'd cried, and he'd cried with her. Scorpius knew that if she started to cry now, so would he. And when he spoke, his voice was just as tear-filled as hers. "Lily. You're one of the only people in this world who see who I am, and who accepts it. I see you, accept you, and know how lucky I am to have you in my life. You're all I need, all I want, and you complete me. You make me more than I am, and everything I want to be. I promise you my love, my loyalty, my life, too. And I promise to do my best, always, to make you happy, to give you what you need. As long as you're by my side, I have everything."

She smiled at him, and the first of her tears slipped over. "Don't." He murmured, and brushed it away. "I can't hold it together if you cry."

By the time they shared their first kiss as a married couple, they were both crying a little, just enough to have their tears mixing together.

_And I'm only me, who I want to be_

_Well I'm only me when I'm with you_

_x_

**33. Song of the Century – **Green Day – _21st Century Breakdown_

_The era of static and contraband_

_That's leading up into the promised land_

_Tell us a story that's by candlelight_

_Waging a war and losing the fight_

Neville checked the time, then scanned the class. After a brief deliberation, the called for them to stop. "Any questions before we pack up?" He asked. Hands raised, students were called on, questions were asked and then answered. And when the herbology questions ran out, a curly-haired blond boy asked to see his D.A coin. Neville smiled a little, checked the time again.

"OK." He agreed, and took it from the drawer in his desk. He passed it to the boy who'd asked, who looked at it intently, not for the first time, before passing it to the girl beside him. Neville leaned against the front of the desk and looked out into the rain. He'd walk the students back up to the castle, he decided. The rain was heavy, and he could cast a simple spell to shield them. Besides, the storm clouds had darkened the sky, and he knew one or two would be unnerved by it.

"Sir?" A dark haired girl near the back raised her hand, and when he looked at her she smiled a little. "Could you tell us again? About the war?"

At first, when he'd started teaching and the children had asked such questions, he'd struggled. There was a part of him that never wanted to speak of it, and a part of him that craved to share every detail. There was a part of him that thought they were too young, too innocent, for such stories, and a part of him that thought they had a right to know. Five and a half years later, Neville was used to the questions, and understood them. The curiosity and fascination was normal, maybe even healthy. And as it had, really, effected each and every one of them, whether they knew it or not, he was certain they ought to know. So, while the coin was passed from hand to hand, and they looked at him, absorbed.

"For the last year of the war," he began, "I was here, at Hogwarts. It wasn't the Hogwarts it had been, or the one it is now. It wasn't a good place to be, either. Death Eaters were among our teachers, and every day someone would get news from home – a relative dead or injured, a home destroyed. No one was safe. And it seemed, to us, here at the castle, that our side was losing. We re-established the D.A, and taught each other to fight, to defend. And we supported each other, helped each other..."

_They're playing the song of the century_

_Of panic and promise and prosperity_

_x_

**34. ****Line and Sinker – **Billy Talent - _Billy Talent_

_Don't make me feel like that_

_Cause that's just plain not nice_

_We don't always see the bright side_

_And I lied when I said I was fine_

Christmas rolled around. It was always going to arrive, of course. They say time waits for no man, and they're right. The seconds tick, and the days slip by, and whether you want it to or not, time moves on. As humans, we have no choice but to keep up. In those first few days, weeks, even months, they'd all taken everything a day at a time. Done what they had to, coped with those ticking seconds, and then gone to sleep – disturbed sleep, most often – only to wake up and do it again. Life was no longer a long term thing; life was a struggle, to make it from one day to the next. A struggle undertaken even when they hadn't wanted to see the next day.

Even in his darkest moments, George Weasley hadn't considered suicide. Death was not, in his opinion, something to be rushed, to be caused or wished for. It was to be fought, every step of the way. But sometimes, sometimes he just hadn't wanted to _be_. He'd improved. Over the last few months, he'd improved, gotten back some of his old self, that old self that had been knocked unconscious by the sight of his dead brother.

And then came Christmas.

He couldn't have known how hard it would be. How could he? But even as he watched Ron stringing decorations up around the shop, he felt the pain of it.

"So they're thinking the castle will be done soon. Apparently, they're not sure whether to open as soon as, or to just wait until September, now." George was barely aware of Ron chattering near the door, the sound of voices washing over him as he wondered how he'd find the strength to get through Christmas.

"Will you go back?" Angelina asked, her gaze on Ron, her question for him, even as she was aware of George's misery.

"Dunno yet. Haven't decided." Ron shrugged, then lowered his voice. "Is George – does he look OK?"

Even as Angelina looked over, George snapped, "I heard that. And I'm fine." Then he turned away and walked into the back room. Angelina followed him, and when he noticed her, he almost snarled. "Really, Angelina, just leave me alone."

"No." She said flatly, her face set. "You lied. When you said you were fine. You lied."

"Yeah. I lied. So what?" He snapped it viciously, then turned away. "I don't want to take it out on you. Just leave me alone."

"It's OK, George. It was never going to be easy for you. Christmas, I mean."

"Yeah. Well. I thought I'd handle it better than I am. It's been months. It all happened months ago."

"And in a way, it was just yesterday." Angelina murmured. Because the illogical sentence made sense to him, George turned back to her.

"I didn't think it'd be this hard. We were all getting better. Not over it. You understand that." She nodded, and he blew out a breath before continuing. "It's knocked us all back. Ginny...Ginny had come so far. Remember how she was, back when it first happened? So cut off from everyone. And she was so much better, and now, she's started spending more time alone. She's quieter. And Mum and Dad, they're -"

"And you. You're suffering too. I can _see_ it, so don't bother denying it. Why won't you admit it? You've never admitted how much it..."

"I can't find the words. Not to explain it." He rubbed a hand down his face. "It'll never be OK that he's gone, will it, Angel?" The use of his old nickname for her seemed to relax them both a little. "But this...is it still supposed to feel like this?"

"There's no "supposed to" about it. You feel how you feel. Come on." She added, suddenly brighter. "Let's go out for a little. I could use the air, and you need to get out for a little. I know how much you've been working lately. That's not the way to handle it. C'mon. Outside." She grabbed his hand, and tugged, giving him no choice but to follow her.

He didn't want her sympathy. God, no. But maybe he needed it, just this once.

_But I have licked my wounds and carried on_

_Everybody needs some sympathy_

_x_

**35. Meet You There – **Simple Plan – _No Pads, No Helmets...Just Balls_

_Now you're gone_

_I wonder why_

_You left me here_

_I think about it on, and on_

Regulus wasn't sure how he should feel, exactly, but he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel like this.

It wasn't like he and Sirius had been close. Wasn't like they'd even liked each, wasn't like they'd gotten on at all, in fact. Not since they were younger. Not since, in fact, Sirius had gone to Hogwarts.

Regulus hesitated in his brother's bedroom doorway, taking in the Gryffindor decorations. Had that, that single decision, destroyed them? If Sirius had been placed in Slytherin, would things have been different? Would he have been different? Would he be sat in here, right now, looking up at him with that grin, like when they were children?

_C'mon, Reg, let's do something fun._

Regulus sighed, because the decision was long since made. And maybe it hadn't been that single thing that had changed everything. They were OK with it at first, after all. Even after Regulus went to the school, went into Slytherin. They were OK. For a while. Maybe things were always going to end up that way. They'd been different, always, from the beginning. Different people, with different hopes and values.

Regulus looked at the picture, the four Gryffindor boys beaming out at him. Sirius' true brothers, he supposed, ignoring the pang of hurt. The more their parents had pushed at Sirius, the closer he'd gotten to those boys. And Regulus, siding with the parents – the easiest option, he could admit – had been replaced, really. Sirius had made it clear that his friends were his family, and he didn't need this one.

And he'd left. So Regulus was alone, an only child in the eyes of his parents.

He'd never thought it would hurt. After everything that had happened between them, everything that had come between them, he never thought it would hurt.

_I know you're never coming back_


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks for reviews._

**_Background Music_**

**36. Last Summer – **Lostprophets – _Start Something_

_Always so hard to say goodbye (goodbye)_

_And we all sit round, here in our home town_

_It's so good like this, these are times we'll miss_

_The memories, I hope will never fade_

It was still a good hour before it would get dark, Hermione mused. Once the sky started to darken, Mrs Weasley would be at the back door, urging them inside worriedly. Unless she thought of some excuse to get them inside in the mean time. Which was probably going to happen.

It bugged her, a little, and pleased her at the same time. Her parents were tucked away with no idea they had a daughter. Mrs Weasley, on the other hand, was watching her every move. The night before, she'd caught Hermione staring off into space, thinking intently, and hurriedly forced a job on her. Even though Hermione was pretty sure Mrs Weasley's concern was mainly for Ron and Harry, it was still nice.

But now, she sat outside in the cool evening, Ginny beside her. The boys were off somewhere, doing some job or other in separate parts of the house.

"Are you...are you leaving right after the wedding?" Ginny asked quietly. Hermione swallowed, because the comment reminded her of all the unknown she had to face soon.

"Probably. I think. We, um, we haven't worked it all out yet. Haven't had the time."

"I don't want you to go. You, or Ron, or Harry." Ginny told her. "I know you have to – I guess I've known all along that at some point, the three of you would be off, doing whatever necessary. Because Harry has to, and you two won't let him do it alone. You never have." And the fact of that had left her with a sick feeling of dread ever since Harry had broken things off with her, when it had become clear that he was going to do _something_.

"No. He gave us the choice, way back in our first year. To go with him, after You-Know-Who, or to stay behind. We made our choice, and maybe a part of me always knew that this is how it'd end up." But, God, she was scared.

"He's lucky to have you. You and Ron."

"He was lucky to have you, too, Ginny. He just wouldn't let himself keep you."

Ginny shrugged. She wouldn't think about that, feel any of that. Not now. "It's going to be dangerous."

"Yes. We've faced danger before." And still, Hermione felt that dread, that fear.

"I know. Faced it with you more than once. Good times." They both smirked a little at the statement.

"I suppose they were, in a way. I don't want to say goodbye to you, Ginny." Hermione murmured, looking out across the garden. "You're the only female friend I have. It's different with the boys." Different, better, worse, all at once. But, like it or not, they were her boys.

"I'll miss this." Ginny murmured. "Times like this. Who knows when we'll be able to do this again?"

"One day." Hermione murmured, and knew that maybe they wouldn't, ever again. Maybe one or both of them would never make it back. Maybe this was their last summer. Maybe all they'd have were the memories. She hoped those memories would never fade, whether she lived or not. "Look after yourself, Ginny. Be smart, be careful, be safe."

"Right back at you. If you die out there, I'm going to be seriously annoyed with you."

Hermione laughed, and it felt good. "Anything to avoid the wrath of Ginny. And same goes."

There was more to be said. Thousands of words and thoughts and feelings. Instead, they sat in comfortable silence. Because some things just don't need to be said.

_I let you watch it all_

_The view from our last summer._

_x_

**37. Snow White Queen – **Evanescence – _The Open Door_

_Stoplight, lock the door_

_Don't look back_

_Undress in the dark_

_And hide from you_

_All of you_

He was trembling when he reached his room. He scanned it quickly, his wand out and shaking because his hands were. Finding it empty, he locked his bedroom door - not that it would keep him safe, really, but it might buy him a little time if necessary - crossed to the bed, and sat, dropping his head into his hands. He didn't cry. He had, after the first time. He had come up to his room, locked his door, and sobbed like a baby. Now, he just sat, shaking a little, his head in his hands, and the screams ringing in his ears. He didn't even know what this one had done. He'd simply put his wand on the man – pitiful, terrified man – and tortured him, because the Dark Lord had told him to.

His Aunt Bella was disgusted with him, as it was becoming glaringly obvious he didn't have to stomach for such things. And the Dark Lord was amused by him. Amused enough to keep using him, over and over and over, to torture anyone he chose.

And Draco was powerless to stop it. Powerless to escape it. The Dark Lord was in his home, and so there was no escape. And so Draco would hide in his room, the low light from his wand burning – because there was a mirror in his room, and if he'd lit the place up he'd catch sight of himself. And right now, he didn't want to look at himself. In the morning, he might just destroy that mirror.

Instead, he pulled off his robes in the dark, and climbed into bed. He was practically a dead man. Once the Dark Lord decided he wasn't useful, or he got tired of toying with him, he'd end Draco's life without a second thought. And that was why the door was locked, why his wand was lit up and sat on the bedside table in the position that made it fastest to pick up – he'd practised – why he'd moved his bed, a week ago, to be equal distance between the door and the window, so that if anyone tried to come through one, he could escape from the other. And if, during the light of day, he'd felt a little ridiculous doing so, he'd been thankful for it by nightfall.

So he settled into bed, alert and afraid, prepared to jump into action if and when he needed to. And thought, not for the first time, that it was possible he was losing his mind.

And no one, even his parents, were doing a damn thing about it.

_I-I-I'm losing my mind and you just stand there and stare_

_As my world divides_

_x_

**38. Careful – **Paramore – _Brand New Eyes_

_Well you can ignore it_

_But only for so long_

_You look like I did_

_You resist me just like this_

_You can't tell me to heal_

She shut herself in her room at the first opportunity. Maybe it was selfish, when everyone was worried and on edge and – God – George had lost an ear. But she needed to be alone. Needed to think. She'd thought, for a long moment, that George was dead. All that blood...all that blood. She wasn't quite ready to think about the missing ear. Wasn't quite ready to admit that it revolted her, the empty hole where it ought to be, or that her heart broke a little for George. So she thought of Harry.

And wasn't that a mixture of emotions? Thank God he was alive. Thank God she hadn't lost anyone else, either, in the transportation. And hadn't it felt so _nice_ – comforting, familiar, and bittersweet, to stand in the garden and hold Harry's hand. Even through that bone-chilling terror as they'd waited, a part of her had registered that. And how _dare_ he, how dare he hold her hand, and look at her like that, all the while knowing he'd all but broke her heart? Ignoring the fact that she'd needed the touch, the connection, the comfort, every bit as he, she hated him for it.

She might have understood his reasons for breaking up with her. She might have, a little, appreciated them. She wasn't quite ready to admit that, in his place, she'd most likely have done the same, but a part of her was aware of it. She'd accept that he'd broken up with her, because she accepted him, for who he was. And without that quality that had made him walk away from her, he wouldn't be the person he was. So she'd accept a great deal from him, as she did from everyone she cared for.

But she wouldn't accept him ignoring the fact that she had been his girlfriend, and wasn't anymore. She wouldn't accept him holding her hand and looking at her like he had when they were together, and then, when others were around them, barely looking at her at all. She wouldn't accept him acting as though there was nothing, had been nothing, between them. He couldn't ignore it forever, she admitted, but she was pretty sure he'd resist talking to her.

Maybe he thought she'd be over it. Maybe he was over her.

Well, he couldn't force her to heal.

Remembering how it'd felt to be discarded – whatever his reasons, he'd walked away from her when she needed him most, even if she had expected it. And maybe it didn't quite hurt so much anymore, it hurt remembering.

She crossed to the window, looked out at it, and admitted there were far more important things in the world right now than her love life.

But she couldn't ignore how she felt, could she?

_And it hurts remembering_

_How it felt to shut down_

_x_

**39. You're Not Sorry – **Taylor Swift – _Fearless_

_Don't wanna hurt anymore_

_And you can tell me that you're sorry _

_But I don't believe you baby like I did before_

_You're not sorry_

Lucy Weasley was seventeen, and blissfully in love. Or so she believed. It was more like a combination of lust, excitement, and youthful infatuation. But Lucy believed herself in love, was sure of it, and, more, believed the boy to love her, too. She was thrilled with him, found him perfect in every way, and told anyone who would listen, whenever she could.

So while Greg showered her with compliments, charmed her friends, made her laugh and kissed her breathless, Lucy felt a combination of things she believed to be love.

And, though only a handful of people knew it, he was also her first lover, as of three weeks. She wouldn't have gone to bed with him if she hadn't believed herself completely in love. And though, on that cold winter evening when they'd closed themselves up in the room of requirement, she had doubts, nerves, insecurities, she was pretty pleased with her decision. It was a serious, mature relationship, she'd told Roxanne, solemnly. And was delighted that she was the first of the two of them to have such a relationship.

It was the first Saturday of February, when she wondered down the marble staircase, looking for Greg. She was, though it shamed her a little, constructing fantasies of marriage and children and happily-ever-afters. They'd both said they loved each other, after all, and love meant forever. Sometimes. Though she thought it was a little silly to think such things, she couldn't help herself. Her secret, she mused, and one no one had to find out.

She reached the bottom step, a half smile on her face as she tried to picture the possible faces of their children. When her gaze found the two figures, she didn't, at first, realise what she was seeing. Then she smiled a little more, realising she was looking at a couple, intricately entwined and kissing fiercely. Amused, she started to turn away, give them some privacy, when she went cold, all over. Staring at the back of the boy's head, she felt shock surround her, and froze, on foot on the bottom step, her hand on the banister. She stared, and was sure she felt her heart shatter.

"Greg." The word stumbled out of her, full of shock and disbelief. She didn't think she'd spoken loudly, but the boy turned his head, and killed her disbelief. She stared at him in shock, as his eyes widened, and he quickly detangled himself from the girl. Who, Lucy realised, she knew by sight. The two of them looked guilty as hell, she thought, as tears sprang into her eyes. They both knew exactly what they'd done.

"Luce – babe -" Greg said, taking a step forward. Lucy spun around, and ran back up the stairs, blinded by tears. Shocked and hurt, when he caught up with her and grabbed her hand, she spun back and slapped him without thought. He jerked back, looking shocked himself. "I'm sorry." He told her, his grip firm on her hand, while her other tingled from the force of the slap. "I'm so sorry. It was nothing."

"Nothing?" She said, infuriated that her voice shook. "You call that nothing?" She tried and failed to pull her hand away from him, and couldn't help the tears spilling over. She didn't want to cry in front of him. God, no. But he wouldn't let her go, and the tears wouldn't stop.

"I love you. Luce, I love you."

"I don't believe you." She said, without looking at him.

"It's true. You know it's true. Baby, you know it's true." He moved closer, released her hand and reached up to cup her face. And she shoved him back with as much force as she could.

"I don't believe you, _baby_." She spat. There were still tears on her face, but her eyes were on fire. "How dare you? You were all over her. You were kissing her. And now you tell me you're sorry, tell me you love me, and try to kiss _me_?"

"Luce, c'mon -"

"Stay away from me. Don't ever talk to me again."

She turned away from him, walked as fast as she could to the common room, to her dorm. And, leaning heavily on the door she'd closed behind her, she sank to the floor and sobbed. Her face taste of betrayal ripped at her heart.

_And it's taken me this long_

_Baby but I figured you out_

_x_

**40. The Sharpest Lives – **My Chemical Romance – _The Black Parade_

_This alone, you're in time for the show_

_You're the one that I need_

_I'm the one that you loathe_

_You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose_

_'Cause I love all the poison_

Bella watched, watched, her heart beating fast as her master tortured the person in front of him. Bella neither knew nor cared who the man was, why he was being tortured. She neither knew nor cared that he had a frantic wife and three young children who didn't know where he was. He was nothing to her. But her master, her lord, was everything. She loved him, in her own twisted way, adored everything about him, and was obsessed with every move he made. Even as he smirked, laughed, as he made the man scream, she loved him. Loved the venom on his face, in his laugh.

Devotion and insanity shone in her eyes as she watched him raise his wand, stare down at the whimpering man with disgust, and faint amusement. "Go." Voldemort ordered. "And remember."

Needing no more words, the man jumped up and ran, sobbing. Bella looked at her master, a little disappointed. "Why let him live?"

"He's more useful alive, for the moment." Voldemort responded, then tilted his head. "You doubt me, Bella?"

"No. No, my Lord. Never." Breathless, she crossed the room and knelt at his feet. "Forgive me. "

He looked at her with undisguised loathing. She recognised it. A small part of her recognised it, and a smaller part of her hated herself for it. And yet, she couldn't stop herself from needing him, as vitally as breath.

"Leave me. I need to travel, in an hour. I have something to take care of." He smiled, horrifically, and thought of murder.

"I'll come with you. I'll -"

"You'll stay here." He snapped, and before she could speak again, he left the room. And Bella stayed, crouched on the floor, bitterly disappointed. And still devoted.

She leapt to her feet, stormed from the house. She needed to kill. She need to feel life slip out of someone, to smell the blood, to see the light leave their eyes. She needed it, as vitally in that moment as she needed her master.

She settled on a young muggle male, luring him into an alley with her looks alone. She despised him for that, even as she was grateful for her beauty, and the weapon it was.

She slipped a hand into her pocket, stabbed the sharp, sharp dagger just under the man's ribs . And as the blood gushed out, running hot and wet over her hands, she smiled, the smile of the damned.

_Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo._


	9. Chapter 9

_So the next chapter will be the last, guys. Thanks for reviews._

**_Background Music_**

**41. Love Story – **Taylor Swift – _Fearless_

_Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone_

_I'll be waiting, all there's left to is run_

_You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess_

_It's a love story, baby just say yes_

Her heart was pounding, so loudly that Andromeda was afraid someone would hear. Stupid, really, but when she was sneaking out of the dark house in the dead of night she felt allowed to worry. She looked behind her shoulder as she opened the front door, holding her breath as she slipped outside, closed it slowly, quietly, behind her. Then she ran. She almost giggled with the freedom it brought, running across the immaculate grounds, in a way she'd never been allowed to. And then she reached the gate, and saw him.

"C'mon." Ted grinned at her, easing the heavy metal open, so she could slip outside. "Before someone sees." He grabbed her hand, pulled her quickly away from the gate, and kissed her, hard. It had been three weeks since they'd last seen each other; the summer seemed endless.

"I missed you. I missed you so much." Andromeda murmured, clinging to him. Then she drew back, looked behind her at the huge house. Her prison. "We have to move. If someone looks out of the window..." She tugged his arm, led him away. If they were caught, she knew her father would kill Ted. Without hesitation, without guilt. And she, well, she wasn't sure what he'd do to her. But Ted was a muggle-born, and that was unacceptable to her family.

"They can't be that bad, Dromeda." Ted murmured. Andromeda only shook her head, wishing she was being over dramatic. Wishing she was wrong.

"They are. You don't understand." How could he? He had warm, muggle parents, who were bemused by his magic and loved him unconditionally. Hers were just the opposite.

"Run away with me."

His words stopped her, and she turned to look at him, so fast a pain shot down her neck. "What?"

"Run away with me. If they're as bad as you say, as dangerous as you say, I don't want you there. I don't want you with them. I love you, Dromeda. Run away with me."

She stared at him, lost for words. He slipped his arms around her, looked seriously into her eyes. "I..."

"I know you don't want to leave them. But they'd understand, after a while they'd understand, and accept us. I can't leave you with them, Dromeda, not if they're capable of hurting you."

"I...God, Ted, you're serious." She broke away, lifted a hand to her temple. "I can't run away. This isn't a fairytale, Ted. It isn't some epic love story where everything ends happily."

"Why not? Just say yes, and it is." He slipped his hands into his pockets, watched her.

"They'll never accept. They'll disown me. If I leave, I won't be theirs anymore. And if they find out, before I leave, they'd kill you."

"So we don't let them find out." He said, then sighed. "No. Right. I'm sorry. I can't ask you to leave your family for me. But I hate this, Dromeda, I hate not being able to tell anyone, I hate not being able to see you."

"We'll be back at school next month. We'll see each other more often." She murmured, but her mind was working, quickly. She loved him, with all she had she loved him, and she was growing to hate her parents more by the day, hate Bella more. She and Cissy barely spoke. What did she have there?

Nothing. She had nothing with them. And Ted?

With Ted, she could have everything.

"Ask me again." She said, turning back to look at him. "Ask me to run."

He looked at her oddly, but nodded. "Run away with me."

"Yes." She said, and felt a weight lift from her. "God. It'll have to be next year. When we've left Hogwarts. And where would we go? How will we live?"

"We'll stay with my parents until we can get our own place." He said quickly, though he looked stunned. "And they'll help us. They love you, you know they do. We'll wait until next year. I understand why." But he was grinning with excitement. "Are we really gonna do this?"

"Yes." She murmured, and found herself grinning back. "Yes."

_We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew_

_So close your eyes_

_x_

**42. When It Rains – **Paramore_ – Riot_

_And when it rains,_

_Will you always find an escape?_

_Just running away _

_From all of the ones who love you_

_From everything_

She hated it. God, she hated it. They were all gathered in the living room again – and why, why gather when that just made it all the more obvious that they were one down? But they'd gathered, around her, and Ginny hadn't yet found an excuse to escape. It had been two weeks, and still, she couldn't get past the nightmares, the grief, the horror, and lack of safety. She'd thought, when it was all over, she'd feel safe again. Instead, she was unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares, and unable to be in a room without checking it completely to make sure it was empty, and closing the door behind her. Not locking it, though, because she had to be able to get out of it. She couldn't be locked in.

She felt like she should talk. They were never this silent when they were all together – except they weren't all together, were they? And she couldn't think of a single thing to say. She'd barely spoken in the last fortnight, found she couldn't concentrate enough to start a conversation.

So, instead, Ginny stayed silent, staring at the wall. She still wasn't herself. She could recognise that; recognise that she'd lost herself somewhat during the last year, and still hadn't regained it. It was just difficult to care about it.

She jumped at the sound of thunder, then turned to the window, watched the rain beat against the glass viciously.

She'd never liked to be out in the rain. To watch it, yes. There was something nice about watching it, while you were inside and dry and preferably with a hot drink. But the only good reason to be out in it was Quidditch.

And yet, as Ginny watched it, she wanted to go outside. To breath in the cold, clear air, to feel the rain. She didn't bother ignoring the impulse. Why bother? She'd been through the worst thing that could ever have happened to her, there was nothing else to scare her. (Except she was scared, all the time, for reasons she didn't understand.) So she got up, crossed the room without meeting anyone's eyes to avoid having to explain herself. And slipped out of the back door, into the rain.

It was sharp. Ice cold needles of water causing mild pain where they struck her. And it was freezing out there; she was shivering the second she stepped outside. But the air was crisp and fresh, and the sting of the cold was oddly soothing.

She tilted her face up to look at the sky, then lowered it.

"Ginny?" She'd known someone would come out after her. It was annoying, and somewhat comforting. She wasn't alone. Ginny knew that, depended on it to some extent. But she also knew that everything could change in a heartbeat.

"I'm fine, Hermione." She said, without turning around. "Just go inside."

"Ginny. You can't stay out here. You're soaked; it's freezing. Come inside."

"Hermione, really. Just leave me alone. Please."

"Ginny, this isn't the way." Hermione spoke quietly, moving closer. "I know it's hard. I know you're upset, and angry, and – and, well, I can't imagine. But this isn't the way to deal with it."

"Yeah? Well tell me what is the way to deal with it, because I don't know what I'm supposed to do, what I'm supposed to feel. So you tell me, Hermione, and I'll do it."

"I...I don't know. I'm sorry, Ginny, I'm sorry. I don't know how to help you."

Ginny rubbed her eyes, hard. "It's not your fault. None of it is. You've been great, to all of us. But I need to be alone, Hermione. I need you to leave me alone now."

"I...I'll be right inside, then, if you need me."

"Thank you."

"We'll get through this, Ginny. I know everything's a mess, now, but we'll all get make it through this. If you – if you need to talk, or, or anything, you know I'm there."

"I know. Thank you." Ginny murmured. She would talk to Hermione later, Ginny mused, about anything, because she knew Hermione needed it. Hermione rubbed her arm once, for comfort, then left. And Ginny spent the next twenty minutes in the garden, in the rain. She didn't know she'd do it again, and again and again and again. Nor did she know that, somehow, it would help.

_Take these chances_

_We'll make it somehow_

_x_

**43. The Navy Song – **Billy Talent – _Billy Talent II_

_Lost...hope in a faraway place_

_And in my hand remains_

_A black and white print of a face_

_I'll never see again_

He didn't cry. He hadn't, not once. What was the point? He'd shed all his tears for Sirius a lifetime again, when he'd believed him a murderer. He'd cried all his tears for himself, then, too, when he'd been alone.

How cruel, how cruel was life to give him something back, give him Sirius back, and then to snatch him away again? Remus was alone, again, and found himself unsurprised. Maybe he was supposed to be alone. Maybe he just wasn't supposed to have anyone. Still, he stared down at the picture, sat on the floor in Sirius' bedroom. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to come up here, why he'd decided to go through Sirius' things, or what he'd planned to do with them. He couldn't bring himself to pack them away, so what was the point? But he'd found the picture, and the pain of that had stabbed him straight in the heart. It had been one of the four of them, at about sixteen. Young and happy and innocent, and together. Remus remembered being taken, remembered the four of them crowding around it after, discussing the good points and bad points of it. At some point, Sirius had cut off a chunk of it, so that Peter was missing. Hard to blame him for it, Remus decided, and wondered what Sirius had done with the strip that had shown Peter grinning and waving at the camera.

Deciding he didn't care, Remus scanned James' face, and Sirius'. Two faces he'd never see again, he thought. Two people he'd lost.

The door creaked open, and Remus looked up to see Tonks. Bleakly, he met her gaze, then closed his eyes. She sat beside him, slipped her arms around him, and murmured that she was sorry.

"That's a nice picture." Tonks murmured, looking down at it. "The three of you look happy."

"We were. Peter, Wormtail, used to be on it, too. Right here, next to James. I guess Sirius cut him out. But we were happy, back then." She tightened her arms around him, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, his eyes closed tightly. He wanted, a little, to just break, in her arms, but wouldn't. Couldn't, because he couldn't get close to her, no matter how much he wanted to.

_Wounded and wishing to fall_

_Into your faithful arms_

_x_

**44. Thank You For The Venom – **My Chemical Romance – _Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge_

_So give me all your poison_

_And give me all your pills_

_And give me all your hopeless hearts_

_And make me ill_

He shouldn't be there. Draco knew it, those around him knew it. Hogwarts, now a merger of old and new, of repaired and rebuilt, was a symbol of what he'd been, what he'd done. He shouldn't be there, shouldn't be allowed to set foot in it.

But he was. He was there, stood at the back of the Great Hall, at the first memorial service. It would become an annual ceremony, and they all knew it. When Hogwarts reopened in September, more than a year after it was largely destroyed, there would be another ceremony, and a memorial plaque would be revealed, in a pride of place. Draco knew because he'd overheard Potter and McGonagall discussing it. And he'd be there then, too, to watch. And he'd sleep in the dormitory, attend the lessons, and they'd all know he shouldn't be there. They'd glare at him, like some were now. The ones who noticed him, glaring with such hatred, such poison, that he ought to drop dead just to please them. Worse, though, were the ones who didn't notice him, the ones who looked so broken, so hopeless, that he felt ill. Suffering, suffering, and yet they all gathered here. Why? To remember the very thing that hurt them so much? To be together while their hearts broke?

He could see many familiar faces. Lavender Brown, who'd been in his year, with her pretty face covered in scars. He felt his stomach twist at the knowledge that Greyback had done that. Greyback, who he'd hated and feared almost as much as the Dark Lord himself. Ginny Weasley, who looked somehow younger, her face set, her hands clutched together so tightly that her knuckles were white. He felt some vague guilt at the way he'd treated her when they were younger, knowing the kid had fought that night, fought while he'd hid and shaken in fear. And, of course, Weasley and Granger, holding hands as they listened to Potter give his speech.

Why did they think that would help, Draco wondered. Giving speeches about remembrance and sacrifice, lighting candles and holding a minute long silence. It wouldn't bring back the dead, and it wouldn't help the friends and families. They could preach and pray if they wanted, sing and dance too for all the good it would do. Nothing would change, no one would heal.

Abruptly, he pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against. He couldn't be here any longer, listen to them trying to heal. It wouldn't save them any pain, any scars, no matter how much they wanted it to. And he wasn't going to stay here, feeling the poison.

He looked back at the stage one last time, and met Harry Potter's eyes. Then he walked out.

_Preach all you want but _

_Who's gonna save me?_

_x_

**45. Thank You – **Simple Plan – _Still Not Getting Any..._

_I thought that I could always count on you_

_I thought that nothing could come between us two_

_We said as long as we would stick together_

_We'd be alright_

_We'd be OK_

"Lily. Lily please, just listen to me."

She quickened her pace, and felt like screaming when Severus did the same. "Please, Lily, I just want to talk to you. Five minutes. Can't you give me five minutes?"

"No." She stopped abruptly, turned to face him, and glared. "No, I can't. I've said all I need to say to you, Sev. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone."

"Lily." He grabbed her arm, looked at her with his eyes pleading. "I've said I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do."

"Nothing." She said, suddenly sad. "There's nothing you can do, nothing you can say."

"I thought we were friends."

"So did I. Do you honestly expect me to forgive you? Do you honestly think we can go back to how we were? We're not eleven any more, Sev, and you're not who I thought you were. Stay away from me."

"Lily, please -" She tugged her wrist; he tightened his grip.

"Let go, Sev. Now."

"You heard her, Snape." James Potter, heading down the hallway at record speed, snapped the words out, then ranged himself beside Lily. "Let go of her."

Severus dropped his hand, and glared at James. "This has nothing to do with you, Potter."

"And when has that ever stopped me?"

"Sev, for God's sake, go away. Leave me alone." Agonisingly angry, unbearably sad, she turned away from him, and listened to his footsteps leave. She didn't jump when James lay his hand on her shoulder; she was starting to know him well enough to have anticipated it.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm OK. He was my best friend. For years, he was my best friend."

"I know. He's not worth you getting upset over, Evans. You...Are you planning to forgive him?"

"No." She turned, finally, to face James, and shook her head. "No."

_Your friendship, you can have it back_


	10. Chapter 10

_More war stuff. This one was hard to write, which is why it took so long. And it definitely proves that this thing is done, since I struggled to get ideas. Was fun while it lasted, though, and thanks a lot to all reviewers._

**_Background Music_**

**46. What If? – **Simple Plan – _Simple Plan_

_I remember going back_

_To the place we used to lay_

_But I keep losing track_

_And now the days they all turn black_

_And our dreams all start to fade_

She had a memory, of laying right here in the grass, talking. Jokes and laughter. Kisses and sighs. Because it hurt her, the remembering, Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and willed it away. No point remembering now, that time before, when she'd had, just for a short time, something she'd never thought she would. She'd had Harry. She looked out, now, across the lake, the cold stinging her fingers. Should've brought gloves, she thought absently, and curled her fingers into her palm in a futile effort to warm them. How odd it was, how childish and stupid and _girlie_ it was, to be sat around feeling low because her boyfriend (who was no longer technically her boyfriend) wasn't around. Because she missed him. To feel low because, once upon a time, they'd laid in this very spot and talked of hope and dreams. The dreams, the hope, had faded now, for her. Harry wasn't here, and Hogwarts was suffering. Her brother (but she couldn't think of Ron, because she was so, so scared for him) and her friend (probably one of the only real friends she'd ever had) were off with him, practically chasing death.

She still had, of course, the constant fear and worry and strain. She carried it around with her, always, and was used to its presence. But here, in the place they used to lay, her focus was on Harry. They needed him. Here, at Hogwarts. Or out, in the rest of the country. They needed him to do _something_. And though she knew he was, in fact, doing something, it was hard to keep faith in him when everything was getting worse, and no one seemed to know what he was doing; and whatever it was, it didn't appear to be helping at all. It was hard to believe in him when things seemed to be getting darker, darker, all the time. Hogwarts was no longer Hogwarts; it was some twisted, sick version of their school.

There were whispers, whispers that angered her and, just a little, worried her, that Harry had abandoned them. Fled abroad, seeking safety. Left them to fight, to die. She didn't believe them. Exactly. But she doubted him, and she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty for it, not when she hadn't heard a word from him in all these months.

"He can't get in touch with us." Luna's voice, quiet and almost musical, didn't make Ginny jump. She'd heard the footsteps – it was just asking for trouble to sit around, alone, exposed, and not _listen_ – recognised them. So she only shrugged.

"I know. It's too dangerous."

"You're annoyed with him anyway." Luna said, sitting beside her. "For not getting in touch. For not finding a way to let you know he's alive, and fighting."

"Yes." There was no need for lies with Luna, nor for shame. She wouldn't judge. Luna was possibly the only person Ginny could count on to listen, to try to understand, and not judge at all. Even now, she wasn't critical. So Ginny could say what was on her mind, and know Luna wouldn't condemn her for thinking it. "Maybe he's not fighting. Maybe he's gone. He could be anywhere, safe, hiding."

"You know he wouldn't. Ron and Hermione wouldn't."

"Why not? We're all depending on him, on them. If he's caught, he's dead. Why shouldn't he run? I would, in that position."

"No you wouldn't." Luna smiled, faintly amused. "You wouldn't run, and you wouldn't hide. You'd face them all, fight."

Ginny couldn't help the smile. "Yeah, I would. And mostly likely die doing it. But the whole world isn't depending on me to live and do something."

"You can't lose faith in them." Luna told her. "You have to believe they're doing what they have to, and what they're doing will help us win."

"It's just hard." Ginny murmured. "To believe in them, to keep fighting here, when things are getting worse. When no one's heard anything from Harry and the others. He trained us to fight. Me, you, Neville, all the others. He trained us to fight, and now he's not fighting. It's hard to keep believing in him when he's not fighting."

"He is. He's doing what he has to, to fight."

"We don't know what that it." Ginny said, and was horrified to hear her voice crack. "We don't know how long it'll take, how much more we're going to be hurt in the meantime. We don't know if – if Ron and Hermione will survive it, if he will. I believed we'd win, Luna. All along, I believed. But I don't know if I can anymore. I don't know if I've got it in me to keep fighting like this."

"You do." Luna said, and her voice was firm. "And you will. You're just having a bad moment, and you'll get over it."

Ginny only nodded, considered and rejected crying. It might release some of the strain, the pressure, she felt, but it would make her feel worse after. Crying always did.

"Come inside, now, Ginny." Luna said gently. "It's cold."

She let herself be pulled to her feet, let Luna lead her inside. Her frozen fingers tingled in response to the heat of the castle, and Ginny curled them, again, into her palm. She'd keep fighting. They all would. What else was there to do?

_But there's no turning back_

_'Cause the world keeps turning_

_x_

**47. Franklin – **Paramore – _All We Know Is Falling_

_And when we get home, I know we won't be home at all_

_This place we live, it is not where we belong_

_And I miss who we were, in the town that we could call our own_

_Going back to get away, after everything has changed_

It was stupid that she felt guilty. Ron had all but shoved her out of the house, after all, assuring her that he'd be OK, reminding her that she'd had so much time away from her parents, from her home. She knew Ginny had given him a little push to make him realise that, but she also knew he'd been genuine. Just as she'd know why there was pain in Mrs Weasley's eyes when she'd said Hermione's parents would want to spend time with her. And they did, of course they did. And she wanted to spend time with them. The day she'd brought them home, there'd been tears and hugs and immense relief. She'd hated having to leave them, knowing their emotions were in turmoil, knowing they'd spend the whole night thinking of all the times their daughter could've died, because she'd told them, honestly, everything that had happened, unwilling to lie to them. And she'd wanted, just for one night, to be in her old bed, in her old room, at home, feeling safe, knowing her parents were in the next room.

Instead, she'd gone back to the Burrow, because Ron would need her to talk to him – about anything, everything, to distract him - and Harry would need her to reassure him, and Ginny would need comfort in the middle of the night when she woke from a nightmare, and Mrs Weasley would need her to set the breakfast table in the morning, because Hermione was the only one who realised how much it hurt her to not set out a place for Fred, and Mr Weasley might need her to explain some muggle appliance that occupied his mind so _he_ didn't dwell on recent events. The Burrow was crowded with people, people she cared about, and so she'd make sure she was there when they needed her.

But she'd been grateful to escape today, from the demands. Not that any of them put those demands on her – she put them on herself, and was aware of it. She also knew she was helping, and so felt guilty for abandoning them. But when she apparated in front of her house, she looked at it and felt only relief. She opened the front door to the familiar sounds and scents of home; and burst into tears.

She was home. God, God she was in the one place she'd missed more than any other in the last year, she was immersed in familiar, the comforting. She was home, but it was no longer hers. She no longer belonged here, with her parents, in the neat little room, with her childhood things. She wasn't the child she'd been; would never be that again. Everything had changed.

She knew where she'd find her parents. Her mother would be in the kitchen, the little TV set on for company, rearranging the cupboards. She never went very long without rearranging everything, a habit which used to drive Hermione mad. Her father would be in the living room, leafing through the paper. They'd be thrilled to see her, of course. But they'd never look at her quite the same way again. She wasn't their little girl anymore, their _special_ little girl, as they'd termed her after discovering she was magic. She was battle-scarred, a war hero, with haunted eyes that they didn't quite know how to handle. She was suffering nightmares, a sporadic appetite, and the strain of trying to support those around her, while quietly dealing with what she'd been through herself.

So her parents would be concerned, and wary. Proud and distressed. So, so thankful she was home, and aware that she wouldn't stay.

She went up the stairs. If someone had heard her enter, they'd know it was her, and they'd leave her be. It was still her home, even though it _wasn't_. So, the tears mostly stopped now, she went into her old room, sat on her old bed. A proper bed. Not the camp bed she had in Ginny's room, or the one she'd had in the tent for all those months. Looked at her wardrobe. A real wardrobe, with clothes hung neatly in it, rather than packed into a bag, the way they were in Ginny's room, they way they'd been in a tent. The little TV that she'd hadn't watched in so long. The books that she'd had to live without. The teddies and toys that she had on display, that had meant so much to her in her childhood that she'd hadn't been able to bring herself to throw away.

She didn't belong here. It would never be home again, she thought. Too much had happened, away from this, that she couldn't call it hers anymore. So she'd spend her time at the Burrow, for as long as she was needed. She'd make sure her relationship with her parents was repaired. And, eventually, she'd make her own home, somewhere that was hers. She'd have her parents, the Weasleys, her boys. And a home, where she truly belonged.

Resolved, she stood, made her way back down the stairs. It was a goal, she mused. An important one. And knowing that she would, eventually, get there, would have to give her the strength to get through the now, no matter how hard it was.

She went into the living room, greeted her father, talked to him a little, falling into the old rhythm, then went into the kitchen, spent an hour helping her mother move things to their new place, knowing that in another month, they'd be moved again. And wondered when she'd feel properly alive again.

_Could you remind me of a time when we were so alive?_

_Do you remember that? Do you remember that?_

_x_

**48. Now That We're Done – **Metro Station -_Metro Station _

_Now that we're done, I'm so sorry_

_Why did I lie, I'm so sorry_

_I know I hurt you, I know I hurt you_

_Now that we're done, I'm so sorry_

"Ginny?" Michael shifted awkwardly, from one foot to the other, as she turned to look at him.

"Hi. You, um, you did good today." She scooped up a pile of books from the floor, began stacking them on shelves. Unnecessary, really. No one cared whether or not the Room of Requirement was tidy. But she had to do something.

"Thanks. Um, you're pretty good at this teaching stuff. A little impatient, but you know your stuff."

"Michael, what is it?"

"What?"

"Whatever it is you're working your way up to saying. What it is?"

"Still read me like a book, huh?" He said. When she only shot him a look, he shrugged. "I just wanted to see how you're holding up. With Harry and Hermione and your brother out there -"

"My brother's at home, he's got -"

"Ginny. I know he's with Harry. The spattergroit thing's genius, though. But he's your brother, and...well, I bet it's hard."

"It is. It's war, it's supposed to be hard." She said, then shook her head. "Sorry. I'm tired."

"You look it." He told her. "I mean..."

"I know. I'm fine, Michael. All things considering. How're you?"

"Oh, I feel like hell." He said breezily, then sobered. "I know I hurt you, Ginny."

"We hurt each other." She said. "I'm not going to blame you for any of that."

"I'm still sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, sorry you hurt me, sorry we let things end so badly." _Sorry I lied, pretended I wasn't jealous, and pushed you away over nothing, _he added silently

"It was ages ago. It doesn't matter now. There's more important things going on in the world." Much, much worse than having your heart bruised by the first boy who'd kissed you, the first boy who'd really cared for you, the first boy you'd really cared for. That old pain was so simple, the small, that she thought fleetingly she'd rather be back there, back in that moment where that was the only thing that had hurt her.

"I know. But, we, ah, we were friends, weren't we? Before, during?"

"Yes. At, at the time...you were the best friend I'd ever had." She shrugged, a little embarrassed, but he smiled, looked flattered.

"I just, I just wanted to say, Ginny, that...things are hard right now, and I...I'm here. I'm here if you need me." He shrugged again.

"Thank you." She murmured. "Same goes, Michael. I'm here for you, if you need me."

He nodded. "You think we're gonna win this thing?"

"Yes. We will. I really believe we will." She had to believe it, otherwise she had nothing to fight for, nothing to live for.

There was a spark in her eyes, the same spark that had attracted him to her in the first place. He smiled a little at the memories, and then wondered how she could believe so firmly, when all his own hope seemed to be dying, bit by bit.

_And you believed, in so much hope_

_But I'm the one, that let you go_

_x_

**49. House of Wolves – **My Chemical Romance – _The Black Parade_

_You better run like the devil_

_'Cause they're never gonna leave you alone_

_You better hide up in the alley _

_'Cause they're never gonna find you a home_

Dean had seen homeless people before. He'd seen them, pitied them, feared them a little. But never, never had he thought that one day, he'd join them. Not on the streets, begging, starving. But he was homeless, now.

Was it worse to know that he had a home, one that would welcome him back in an instant, and be unable to go back there? He missed it, so, so much, but he knew that if he went back, they could all be dead. So he had to stay away, hiding wherever he could, using the little money he'd had, and stealing when he had to. And he hated it. Every minute of it. He missed his family, his friends, missed home and Hogwarts. Missed feeling safe and being able to relax. Missed sleeping, properly, in a bed, instead of camping out and being ready to move at any sign of threat.

He sort of thought he was going to die. He hadn't, when he'd first set out. He'd figured he'd be on the run for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. Then it'd all be over, and he could go home. Now, it was Christmas, it was cold and he was lonely and scared and sort of thinking he was going to die, because this whole war was dragging on longer than he'd thought, and things seemed to be getting worse, and if the Death Eaters didn't get him soon, the frigging cold just might.

Lost in self-pity (and he hated feeling self-pity, but he couldn't quite stop) Dean set up camp, in a carefully hidden spot. Then heard a noise.

It was a crack, like a twig underfoot. And then a rustle. And while he stood, completely still, completely silent, not even breathing while he strained to listen, he desperately tried to convince himself it was an animal. Becuase, God, he was tired, and sick of running, and he didn't know where to go next. He'd wanted to just camp here, get a few hours sleep, and forget everything.

Then he heard the murmur of voices, and his heart began to beat so fast that, between that and the sudden roaring in his ears, he could hear nothing. But he hurriedly packed up his things, trying to stay quiet and move fast. When he heard the voices again – louder, closer – he made a panicked sort of whimper, grabbed his things, and apparated, the only thought in his mind was _Run_.

_And I said ashes to ashes_

_We all fall down_

_x_

**50. This Isn't Hollywood – **Go: Audio – _Made Up Stories_

_Every now and then_

_I'm haunted by the same things_

_What I could've done _

_And how I could'vet changed things_

He still wondered. Even after all these years, he couldn't help but wonder. If he'd been there, would things have been different? If he'd been stood beside Fred, could he possibly have seen it coming and pushed him out of the way? Or if they'd chosen oppositely, so he'd been in that corridor instead, would he have been killed instead of his twin?

It haunted him, still, the idea that he could have done something, changed something. Some minor thing that could've edited the outcome. Didn't people say that one little event would lead to a bigger one? So maybe, just maybe, some other decision or action would have stopped Fred's life from ending that night.

And if it had, if by some miracle they'd both survived, would Fred be right beside him, now, possibly with his own children, and his own wife waiting at home? Would they be sharing sentences, thoughts, jokes, as they had done before?

He'd learned to live without all of that. And now, with all the time, he was used to just being one. To being George, rather than Fred and George. To complete a full sentence, rather than leaving it hanging for someone else to finish. But still, still he knew that the old rhythm had never left him. That if he were to meet his brother again, he could slip back into it, back into being a twin.

There was comfort in that.

George pushed at his hair – it was too long again, and he'd have to find time to hack at it soon – and watched his children race around the park. His son, though named for his twin, bore little resemblance, his skin the colour of milky coffee, his hair dark. But the eyes were George's, and if you looked close enough, there were faint evidence of freckles. There was comfort in that, too. His son was his own person, had his own features. But was tied, nonetheless, to George, and so to Fred.

Would Fred's son have looked at all like that? Would his daughter have looked anything like George's own Roxy, with her big dark eyes, and her serious mouth? George's nose was planted in the centre of her face, and sometimes those eyes lit with familiar humour, the mouth lost all seriousness, curling into his own smile. George's features, Fred's features.

He stood, forcing himself to stop thinking of it. To think of how amazing it was to see parts of himself in these children, his children, perfect in his eyes. And to think of the twist of pain it occasionally brought to remember that those characteristics were Fred's characteristics.

If all had been right, there would have been an energetic little boy running beside his own, with Fred's eyes and laugh and freckles, and a daughter with his Roxy with Fred's nose and smile.

It hadn't worked out like that, and George had long since come to terms with that. He knew that his mood was a product of the date; April 29th, with only a few days left before the anniversary of his brother's death.

"Fred, Rox, c'mon. Time to go." George called, and answered the familiar protests automatically, before Roxy tucked her hand in his, and Fred gave a dramatic sigh before joining them. They were his world. They'd steadied him when he'd thought he'd never be completely steady again. They gave him light in his darkest days. And they gave him a reason to be glad, so, so glad, that he'd survived. If his only reason for walking out of Hogwarts that day with his heart still beating was so that his children came to be, he could live with it. And he didn't, mostly, even feel guilty for it anymore. This was his life, and one he would never turn away from, no matter how much he'd lost.

_Don't turn away_


End file.
